


Aliens Are Other People

by persepolis130



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Sex, Alternate Reality, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Because Galra are built differently, Blow Jobs, Come Inflation, Condoms, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith denies this is a love triangle, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Masturbation, Other, POV First Person, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Unreliable Narrator, Unsafe Sex, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-02-28 22:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 90,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13281159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persepolis130/pseuds/persepolis130
Summary: With Zarkon seemingly defeated and Shiro still at the head of Voltron, Keith hopes to learn more about his Galra side by training with the Blade of Marmora. But when he unwittingly gets too close to a fellow Blade member, he jeopardizes not only their relationship with Team Voltron, but the entire rebellion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my (winning!) NaNoWriMo project, which is now up to 19 chapters and 70k words, so I guess it's time to start posting. It takes place just after season 2, but Shiro didn't disappear after Zarkon was defeated. He'll be around in all his glory to support and torment Keith.
> 
> I'll try to update every week, but some of this needs serious editing. More tags will be added as I go-- don’t want to spoil too much, and there's a lot going on here. No beta (and I wrote half of this on my phone ahaha), so please let me know if you see any errors! Creative criticism and thoughts about where you'd like this story to go will be cherished with a fervor bordering on obsession.

CHAPTER 1

I've been angry for so long that when the anger goes away, I don't know who I am anymore.

Galra. I say it to myself in the mirror. Taste the word on my tongue. _Galra._ That's what I am.

It explains everything and nothing at the same time.

I sigh at my foggy reflection in the bathroom mirror, running my fingers through dark hair made slick by the shower. My body is still damp-- and exhausted from my workout on the training deck-- but it _looks_ human. All five and a half feet of it. If I didn't have incontrovertible proof, I'd say the whole thing was a lie. A year ago, I didn't believe aliens existed, and now I'm one of them? Bullshit.

But it's not a lie. I'm not human. At least not totally.

Hunk's question runs through my mind: _How Galra am I?_ Can't be half. There's nothing alien about my skin-- I only go purple when I bruise-- and my eyes have, you know, _irises_. That aren't yellow.

A quarter? An eighth? A single microscopic strand of resilient DNA still clinging to my genetic code from 10,000 years ago?

Does it matter?

"My name is Keith, and I'm Galra," I say to my reflection. My tiny, pink, all-too-human reflection. "I'm _Galra_."

It still doesn't make sense.

So why aren't I angry about it?

Why does it feel like some piece that's been sitting wrong my entire life, the edge of it chafing against every feeling I've ever had, has been nudged into place, like a slipping gear finally meshing?

And why does part of me ache for that familiar grind?

I only know one person who might be able to answer that, so I throw on my clothes and put on my game face. The weight of my Galra blade is a comfortable presence against my back. There was a time in my life when it was the only thing I could count on not being taken away from me. I run my fingers across the hilt and take a deep breath.

I come across Shiro while pretending I'm not loitering just outside his room. He's in his paladin armor with his newly-retrieved bayard in his hand. He must've hit the training deck after I left.

"Keith, great timing," he tells me, and tips his head toward his door. "Why don't you come in?"

I shrug, like it doesn't matter. Like nothing matters. "Yeah, sure."

After our last mission when we took down Zarkon, Shiro was knocked out cold. We had to tow his lion into the Castleship. When we got inside Black, we found him lying on the floor with a lump on his head the size of an egg. We never figured out what hit him. His helmet was still on.

After a few hours in the cryo pod, he acted like nothing even happened.

He's a way better actor than I am.

"I just finished up, and I was going to grab a quick shower and track you down," Shiro says, following me into his room. The door closes with a _whoosh_ and a mechanical click behind us. "I want to touch base about how things are going for you."

"Go ahead, I can wait," I tell him, perching on the edge of his messy bed. You'd think someone like Shiro would have sheets pulled so taut you could bounce a quarter off them, but I guess everyone has to cut corners somewhere. "Just got cleaned up myself."

"Hmm," says Shiro. He sniffs his armpit and makes a face. "Now that you mention it..."

I smile, and he ruffles my wet hair with a large cybernetic hand. It's always gentler than I expect.

With an assurance he'll only be a few minutes, Shiro disappears into the bathroom. The smile drops off my face. The quiet of his room is stifling. The blank walls stare back at me, accusing me of things I can't name.

I sigh and flop back onto Shiro's bed, going boneless against the mattress. I close my eyes. The sheets kind of smell, but in a restful sort of way. Shiro in repose.

Something about that idea makes me smile.

The shower turns on, and I take a deep breath of sleepy Shiro. I don't realize how tired I am until Shiro nudges me awake.

"You alright, there?" he asks.

I rub my face and sit up. "Yeah. Sorry." My voice sounds froggy, and I clear my throat.

Shiro smiles. A drop of water hangs from the tip of his tuft of white hair. It drips down the side of his nose when he tilts his head. I resist the urge to reach up and wipe it off. "It's no problem. You deserve some rest after everything you've been through this past month."

He has a towel wrapped around his waist, and his naked chest looks twice as broad as mine. I tell him, "It's nothing more than anyone else has been through," as he fishes through his closet for regular clothes. Allura gave us all extras, both in our paladin colors and more unassuming stuff, but no one really wears them. "I mean, apart from the whole being-an-alien thing."

"I don't want to talk about the others. I want to talk about _you_ ," he says, dropping the towel to slide into his pants. He's covered in muscle down there, too. His workout routine is intense. "And the _being-an-alien thing_ is pretty heavy."

"Okay," I tell him. "Let's talk." I don't know if it's admiration or envy or what, but this isn't the first time I've thought of how much better life would be if I'd been born Takashi Shirogane.

Shiro sits down beside me. The bed is made of some sort of alien polymer and is solidly anchored to the floor, so it doesn't creak under his weight the way the beds at the Garrison did. "So, Keith. Let's get serious. How are you doing?"

I shrug. "Fine, all things considered."

He examines my expression, dark eyes searching, and nods. "And how are you _feeling_?"

It's such a relief. Weakness is easier to admit to when it's taken as natural and confronted head on. Tiptoeing around it gives it power. "I'm... confused, I guess. I don't really know how I'm supposed to be taking all of this," I admit. "Being Galra explains a lot of things but... also doesn't."

"This is big stuff, Keith,” he says. “You’re allowed to be unsure about it. That’s completely normal.”

I nod. I understand that on a logical level, but... “I guess it helps to hear you say it.”

“Anything you need, Keith. No matter what happens, I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to face it alone, " he tells me. "I’m here for you. We're _all_ here for you. And I know it's not quite the same, but you're not the only one who got launched into space and came back part alien."

He pokes my arm with the index finger of his Galra hand, and I smile and bat it away. "Some of us were part alien _before_ we went to space," I remind him. “It’s different.”

"True," he says, expression dead serious, and pokes me again.

"Knock it off," I tell him, trying hard not to laugh. "It's not funny!"

"Okay. Sorry. I'm finished," Shiro says, and pokes me right below the ribs where I would lie under oath that I'm not ticklish.

I grab for his hand, but he's too quick. My glare of fake annoyance ( _death pout_ , he called it once) earns me a squeeze around the shoulders. "I'm so proud of you, Keith," he tells me. "You've grown up so much since we first met."

"I hope so. I was only fifteen. That's too young to be grown up." I wish his arm hadn't dropped so quickly. It felt nice there. "Except for you, of course. I bet you were reorganizing Galaxy Garrison Command for maximum efficiency by that age."

Shiro looks thoughtful. "When I was fifteen, I was called into Commander Iverson's office for vandalizing a vending machine," he tells me.

I roll my eyes. "You weren't."

"I was," he insists, giving me a solemn look. "The incident was caught on video. It was a very grave offense."

"Lies!" I pronounce.

"Truth," he counters. "I broke the plastic flap on the bottom that keeps you from reaching in and taking all the snacks. Earned me bathroom cleaning duty for a month."

"Okay, but what _actually_ happened? I know you weren't stealing Funyons," I tell him.

He grins. "Cracker Jacks, actually."

I wrap my arms around myself to keep from smacking him. "You're full of it. You don't even _like_ Cracker Jacks."

"They weren't for me," he says, and runs his human fingers through his damp hair to fluff it. I wish I'd thought of doing that. Why do I never think of these things? "A fellow cadet bought them, and they got stuck in the machine. The kid was bawling his eyes out-- he'd had a horrible day, and this was the straw that broke the camel's back-- so I fished them out for him. I was skinnier back then, but not _that_ skinny. My arm got stuck."

I snort. "Shiro the juvenile delinquent."

"Not juvenile," he says with a shake of his head. "Cadets are tried as adults."

"Wow. Am I even safe being alone with such a hardened criminal?" I ask.

He laughs. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners makes me smile. "I explained to the Commander what happened, and he called the boy into the office. Poor kid was terrified. He denied the whole thing. Iverson asked me what I had to say to that."

"And let me guess, you said something heroic."

"I confessed to breaking the machine, and I agreed to face the punishment for it," he says. "I told him that if I had it to do over again, I'd do the exact same thing. Helping a fellow cadet in need was a bigger priority for me than a squeaky clean record."

"So predictable," I tell him, with great fondness. "What happened to Cracker Jack boy?"

Shiro shrugs. "He ended up washing out. Couldn't take the pressure. Would've made a better story if he'd gone on to graduate at the top of the class and mentioned me in his Valedictory speech, but not everyone's cut out for the Garrison. Some people have different paths to follow. Right?"

I sometimes wonder if he plans these things ahead of time or comes up with them on the fly. I also wonder if he's trying to get me to open up about getting booted out of the Garrison, which we've never really discussed. Life there after Shiro was a total shit show.

I tell him, "I can't believe you just turned a story about breaking a vending machine into an inspirational pep talk."

He raises an eyebrow. "Did it work?"

I lean back on his bed, my fingers digging into his messy blanket. He turns to watch my movement, and the scar across his nose catches the light. The dark skin there is shinier than the rest, raised along the outside but dipped in the middle. I wonder how it would feel to run my fingertips over it. "You know it always does."

Shiro nods and pats my knee. "Good. So what do you think of spending some time with the Blade of Marmora? You're technically a member now, and it would do you good to learn about your heritage."

"Yeah, I'd like to. Let's put saving the universe on hold so I can do that." The way it comes out, it's almost like I'm my old, angry self. But Shiro doesn't take the bait. He's never taken the bait.

"We're going to be working closely with them for a while," he says instead. "Freeing hundreds of worlds from Galra control will take more than the five of us and Coran and Allura, no matter how strong Voltron is when we work as a team. Forging a closer bond with the Blade of Marmora would be beneficial for the entire universe."

I shrug. "It does sound a lot less self-serving that way."

"Self discovery isn't self-serving, Keith. Learning your place in the universe means you can unlock your true potential," he tells me. "Uncover your _destiny_."

"Destiny, huh? You really believe in that stuff?" The thought makes me smile.

Shiro leans back beside me. The position shows off the line of his stomach beneath his form-fitting shirt, and I wonder if he realizes. "Belief or no, self-knowledge is essential. There's a big difference between knowing you're an amoeba and knowing you're a god, and confusing the two doesn't do anyone any good. That's one thing I don't think you've ever seen clearly about yourself."

"First a Galra, now a god. I keep moving up in the world," I tease.

"Joke about it all you want," he says, "but in case you haven't noticed, Keith, you're kind of a big deal. There's no one else in the universe who can do the things you do."

I shake my head. "You could."

Shiro chuckles. "Don't be so sure. There's a lot I can't do."

"Yeah. Reality-altering stuff like fishing Cracker Jacks out of vending machines," I tell him.

He nods. "And ballet. I'm a terrible dancer."

"And changing your sheets," I helpfully add.

"I change my sheets once a year whether they need it or not," he deadpans.

"That's so gross!" I laugh, and elbow him. "How are we even friends?"

"Mutual bad taste," Shiro tells me, and elbows me back. I shove at his shoulder with my palm, but it puts me off balance, and with a nudge, Shiro topples me sideways onto the mattress. I lie there and laugh.

Shiro makes the dumbest things fun.

With a _whuff_ of breath, he flops back beside me. Stretching his arms out above his head, he opens his mouth and yawns.

"Gonna catch flies," I warn him.

He grins and rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. His body curls toward me, and one of his knees brushes mine. He looks down at me like I'm the only thing he wants to see.

I smile up at him.

He smiles back.

"Hey," I say.

His eyes go soft, and he rubs his Galra knuckles across my cheek. "Life is hard, buddy. You're doing great at it."

"That means a lot to me," I tell him, and stare up at the ceiling. On Earth, I’d be looking toward the stars. "It really does."

For a moment, I let myself imagine I'm the person he thinks I am. I'm courageous and strong and the type of man who reaches an arm across Shiro's chest and pulls him close. We lie here on his messy bed until we fall asleep, wrapped up in each other's arms.

When I wake up, he's still there.

I push myself up off the bed and stand, shaking off my fantasies. Stupid. That's what I am. I nudge Shiro's ankle with the toe of my boot. His bare feet are white and strangely fragile looking. "I'm heading out," I tell him.

"I'll talk to Kolivan," he says, not sitting up. Instead, he rolls back against the mattress and spreads his arms out across it. I forcibly don't think about curling up beside him and resting my head on his bicep. "I'm sure he won't mind taking you on for a while between missions. There's a lot you can learn about Galra tech and fighting style, but even more about their culture. _Your_ culture."

"Maybe I could even make some new friends," I tell him. "Ones who wash their sheets."

"Make sure they can dance," Shiro suggests.

"I hate dancing," I tell him.

Shiro chuckles and throws an arm over his eyes. He rests his other hand on his stomach. The empty place I could have filled is gone. He repeats, "I'll talk to Kolivan," as I walk out.

That's how I end up sleeping with Yarok.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great big THANKS! to everyone who left comments and kudos on the first chapter. I haven't posted anything new in years, and you're really giving the push in the right direction I so desperately need!

CHAPTER 2

The goal of Galaxy Garrison is to mold cadets into the perfect soldier. But we can't all be Shiro. When I wasn't malleable enough to be pounded into shape, they blamed me instead of their system. 

_It's against regulations_ , they'd say, and strike another black mark on my record. There, I was formally reprimanded for overriding the safety on the flight combat simulator and locking myself in until I puked. Here, on a covert alien cruiser in the heart of the Blade of Marmora, I'm praised for it.

The old me would’ve been pissed. The new me just feels cheated.

"Do not mistrust your emotions, though they may alter over time," Kolivan tells me when I ask him what it means. "Instead, learn to embrace them and let them be your guide. Converse with them as though with a companion, and their true meaning will become clear."

I don't understand a word of it.

I'm happy being around people like me, though-- or at least what passes for happy in my little corner of the universe. With the rebellion heating up after Zarkon's defeat, Kolivan is too busy coordinating Blade activity to train me himself, so he sets me up with other members who are experts in their fields to get me up to speed. 

"Do not think that your standing as a paladin will excuse you from the full training," he tells me before I start. "You will be held to the same standards as all of our members."

"I'm not looking for handouts," I say. 

He gives me a solemn nod. "If you were, you could never have awoken your blade. Only know that if your performance is deemed unacceptable, you will retain your restricted status as a member of the Blade of Marmora and will be barred from taking part in missions."

That's fine. They want to test me? Bring it on. 

My education is a crash course straight out of a sci-fi film. And even though I can't decipher the language, my genetic ability to interface with Galra tech gives me an in to most of their systems. It's intuitive in a way human technology isn't. And I get along with all my Galra tutors, which surprises me, though maybe it shouldn't. 

The one I end up falling in with is Yarok.

Yarok’s specialty is close combat. In the fourth heat of my Trials, he was the one who said _Surrender the blade, and the pain will cease_ after I threw myself at him, bloodied and bruised. 

I don't recognize him. Maybe they can tell each other apart through their masked combat suits, but all I can see is seven and a half feet of slender, black-clad muscle. Outfitted once again in matching gear, I spar with him half a dozen times before I realize he thinks I know who he is. 

When I admit it, he laughs. It echoes off the vaulted ceiling of the training room. "Here and I thought I had made an impression!" It's the first time I've heard this sound on their ship. 

"I was a little busy working on the whole _knowledge_ thing," I tell him, "and avoiding the _or death_."

He nods. "Thank you, paladin. You have truly put me in my place."

And then he invites me to dinner.

Their dining hall is a long room with two tables set parallel to stark gray walls. A lot of Blade members are off fighting in different sectors, so the hall is only half full. Eating together is a special thing for them, so I haven't been here before, but it isn't so different from the Altean dining hall in the Castleship or the Caf back at the Garrison. But unlike what I'm used to, it has no griping cadets or tired paladins reminiscing about cheeseburgers and Coca-Cola.

And no masks.

For the first time, the Blades of Marmora abandon their headgear, setting aside their blades for two-tined forks and oddly flat spoons. I'm startled by how different they all look. Skin so many shades of purple, pointed ears bare or tufted in fur, faces covered in patterned markings or as unmarked as mine... all of them so distinct. It's like I'm surrounded by a dozen alien species instead of one.

I need to stop thinking of them as aliens. I'm _one_ of them. I can't be an alien to _myself_.

Right?

Yarok looks young, though not as young as I am. Maybe Shiro's age. He has hair that reminds me of a Mohawk, and glowing pegs through his catlike ears that might be for aural enhancement, decoration, or both. His bottom lip was split at some point and healed wrong, slicing a scar through his deep purple skin. He smiles at me, revealing a set of pointed, feline teeth.

"Looking forward to sampling Galra cuisine?" he asks. He sounds different without the modulator on his mask.

I shrug.

"I would love to learn about human food. Your adoptive culture seems fascinating," he tells me, his catlike grin broadening. His voice is pleasant, something you wouldn't mind listening to for a while.

"Hunk is really the food expert," I tell him. "I just eat the stuff."

"I'm sure you must know plenty. You've been eating Earth food your entire life," he says. "Was it very strange to only ever live on one planet?"

"Yarok," a Galra down the table calls out. He has the stump of a horn in the middle of his forehead. "Why not have the paladin stand so that you can properly suck up to him?"

Yarok throws him a sidelong glance. "I would not lower myself to this one," he replies. "He bites."

The Blade down the table shakes his head but says nothing. His cheeks are marked by violet stripes. His expression is unreadable.

I can't decide if I should take offense. My teeth may not be as sharp as theirs, but like any kid who's been dragged by the scruff of the neck through the foster care system, I know how to use them. I settle for watching the platters of food being lowered onto the table.

Compared to the neon green goo I've gotten used to on the Castleship, Galra food looks surprisingly edible. Even if it's blue, what's dished up onto my plate with a pile of spiced vegetables is definitely meat. It’s pork-like and juicy, and the smell reminds me of barbecue. I don't hesitate to dig in. Halfway through the first bite, I realize it's raw, but it's tender and hot, so I don't let it bother me.

Dessert does bother me. Plump white dumplings float in a steaming pool of gooey liquid. The smell is sickly sweet, and their shape is distinctively insect-like. In fact, they look suspiciously like giant wasp larvae in cream sauce.

"What _is_ this?" I ask Yarok as a dish is put in front of me.

"Giant wasp larvae in cream sauce," he says, confirming my fears. "Flash boiled and slow simmered in amaberry nectar. It's a delicacy."

And the Blade members do seem excited by its arrival. An appreciative murmur runs through the room as they're served. It's more noise than I've heard them make the entire time I've been with them.

"Can't wait," I tell him, wrinkling my nose. 

He raises a brow at my skepticism. "If you don't want yours, I would be more than happy to take them off your hands," he offers.

"I see your game now," the horned, violet-striped one who taunted him before says. "Get him to lower his guard and then swoop in for the kill."

"Undoubtedly worth a nibble or two," Yarok agrees.

Someone makes a noise that sounds like a cough but might be a laugh.

I poke the sharp edge of my spoon into one of the larvae. Its curdled insides ooze out onto my plate like some kind of nightmare pudding. "Here goes nothing," I mutter.

Yarok eyes me expectantly.

When it hits my tongue, I almost choke. I drop my spoon and hold a hand to my mouth. Clearing my throat, I gulp down a mouthful of water and somehow manage, "That's the best thing I _ever tasted_."

Yarok laughs and smacks me on the back, the force of it pitching me forward against the table. "Spoken like a true Galra!"

"Here here!" says someone across the table.

"What is that _taste_?" I ask, spooning up another gooey bite. "It's like... like..."

"Paradise?" Yarok asks, sliding an entire cream-covered larva into his mouth. The creamy insides gush obscenely through his pointed teeth.

When my mouth is mostly empty again, I tell him, "You could make a _religion_ out of this."

He shrugs and slurps up another larva.

I stuff another bite into my mouth, wiping the goo from my chin when it drips out, and suck my fingers clean.

As much as I want to savor every bite of this culinary bliss, I'm a team player. I mean, I'm _trying_ to be. So I wrap the last of my larvae up and take it back to the Castleship for the others to try. And also to see if maybe Hunk recognizes the taste and can replicate it.

I said _trying_ , okay?

Team Voltron is finishing up their own, significantly greener, dinner when I get back. "What is _that_?" Pidge demands when I present my gift.

"Galra delicacy," I say. "Try some."

"I'll pass," she says, with a flustered wave of hands.

"Yeah, that'll be a _no_ for me on the creepy alien slug thing," agrees Lance.

"It's not a slug," I tell him. "It's a giant wasp larva flash boiled and slow simmered in amaberry nectar. With cream sauce."

"Hmm," says Hunk, looking thoughtful. He picks up a spoon.

"Well, at least it's cooked," Shiro says, and also takes a bite.

They chew very slowly.

"So?" I prompt.

Hunk frowns, licking his lips. "Considering it's the larval form of an angry winged thing that wants to kill me, I expected... something more? It doesn't really taste like anything, does it?"

Shiro nods. "It's a little like unsweetened tapioca."

I gape at them.

"You like this?" Shiro asks.

I frown and grab Shiro's spoon out of his hand, wondering if larvae are only good fresh. It's lukewarm now, but if anything, it's better after the flavors have had a chance to meld. I think I actually moan when the creamy inside hits my tongue.

"Interesting," says Hunk. "I wonder if Galra taste buds can taste things humans' can't. It makes sense that as a species, we've developed the ability to taste flavors native to Earth. But it's possible that different species could develop _different_ taste receptors based on..."

I lose track of what he's saying as I stuff the last of the larva into my mouth. When it's gone, I lick the plastic wrapper I brought it over in. I might’ve gotten some on my fingers, so I lick those too. And then the spoon again. And then the plastic wrapper one last time because you can never be too careful. 

When I’m sure I haven’t missed any, I look up to see the entire team staring at me.

" _What?_ " I demand.

Shiro smiles and squeezes my shoulder. "I'm glad you're enjoying your time with the Blade of Marmora."

I'm filled with a strange satisfaction by the whole experience. 

I tell Yarok about everyone's reactions at our next sparring session, but he's not surprised.

"I've always believed we Galra have a particularly refined palate. I would not expect an alien species to be able to appreciate such a subtle flavor," he tells me. He's left his hood and mask off this time, and a smile quirks his lips as he wedges his gloves in tightly between his fingers.

"It's not really _subtle_ ," I tell him, rolling my shoulders to work out the stiffness. I frown at the way my neck twinges.

I'm quickly getting better at Galra-style combat. Having only lived among humans, I never imagined the ways I could use my body. Cirque du Soleil's got nothing on me. The Marmora bodysuit helps. I can jump further and land lighter with the special footpads than I would've ever dared in my clunky paladin boots. In low-g, I can _run up walls_.

Yarok is fast, but his limbs are so long that it takes him more time to pull off moves. It's a common Galra weakness he's teaching me to take advantage of. With how hard he's been working me, I'm creaking and groaning worse than a desert shack in a sandstorm.

"It suits you, then," he says.

Dagger in my hand, I reach out with my connection to the luxite, and the blade grows to full length. I swing it in a wide arc and aim the point at Yarok. "Is that a criticism?"

Yarok looks surprised, his own sword loose in his grasp. "A compliment.”

I consider this and then nod, letting my blade drop. “We work well together.“

It's true. Pitted against one another, we flow with a give and take of motion I’ve never felt before. None of the fits and starts a human would make, body out of sync with my rhythm. None of the choppy, preprogrammed movements of a training gladiator. With Yarok, one motion shifts effortlessly into the next, graceful and fluid, almost like a dance.

I lied when I told Shiro I didn’t like dancing.

And Yarok is a good teacher. Patient. He doesn’t mind when I disregard everything he's taught me and charge in recklessly, taking his elbow to my jaw. He doesn’t snap that I wasn’t paying attention or that I’m never going to learn. And he doesn’t act insulted when I finally get under his guard and send him sprawling, either.

“If I didn't know better, I would say we were having fun,” he tells me instead, panting on the ground.

“Good thing you know better,” I tell him, and offer a hand. He takes it with a squeeze, letting me help him up. 

The sight of our hands interlinked is a shock to my system. We're the same, both of us Galra, but his hand practically envelops mine, so much wider and longer. His fingers twine up and around my wrist. Though we’re wearing gloves, his claws bite through the fabric.

There’s so much power there. Something about it electrifies me.

And brings to mind just how long it’s been since I’ve gotten laid.

I know it’s just because my body is thrumming with adrenaline, but would it be such a horrible thing?

Because he's not bad looking. I don't know about Galra standards of beauty, but if he was human, he'd be considered attractive. I mean, I don’t see why he _wouldn’t_ be. _I_ certainly don't mind looking at him. Wouldn't mind looking at more of him.

And even if I’m wrong, and I _shouldn't_ be interested, Yarok looks like he could get the job done. It’s not like I have to stare at him while we’re doing it. I could close my eyes. Turn down the lights. Flip over and have him take me from behind. I wouldn’t even have to know it’s him.

That's disgusting, isn't it?

I am a disgusting person.

“One more round?” Yarok asks.

I smile, heart pounding hard in my chest for more reason than one. “Definitely.”

Wiping away a bead of sweat dripping down my forehead, I get back in position. Yarok towers over me, expression gone serious, posture back in training mode. Now that it's on my mind, I’m hyper aware of his body. Every shift of muscle hints at the things it might do to mine in a more private setting. Every cut angle insists on how good he could make me feel. Yeah, he'd get the job done, alright.

Fine. So I’m disgusting. So what? I am what I am.

Whatever the hell that is.

Xxxxx

I wish I could talk to Shiro about sex.

It’s obscenely late— or early, depending on how you look at it— and the two of us are on the Control Deck going over mission specs. Planets all over the Galra Empire are rebelling. They need weapons. They need supplies. 

They need Voltron.

I've gotten a sum total of twelve hours' sleep in the past week. I've been to three different sectors. Allura and the other paladins went to bed hours ago. Shiro sent Coran to his room after we found him slumped over drooling on the navigation controls.

When Shiro woke him up, he chimed, _I'm awake, I'm awake!_ and jerked to his feet. His hand went to his forehead in a salute, and his mustache dripped onto his shoulder. 

It was actually pretty funny.

Alone on the control deck with me now, Shiro steps back to evaluate our progress. “Good work, Keith,” he says. An enormous map charts points of attack through the outer rim of a galaxy that was colonized by the Galra millennia before humans invented the wheel. Its glowing markings illuminate the dark circles under Shiro's eyes. “Things are really coming together.”

I know he wouldn’t judge me. He was eighteen once, too. He knows how it feels. And he never had a relationship the whole time I was at the Garrison, and guys like Shiro don’t go without.

I’m not saying it was a common thing. Shiro’s not like that. But gossip runs rampant in a closed society. Even an outcast like me got an occasional earful. And I know for a fact that the night before the Kerberos mission, Shiro got some action. I had an exam and couldn’t go off base with him. He wouldn’t let me. But it’s not like it was a secret. The annoying redhead he got with bragged about it for a month. It pissed me off so much.

“Should we bother going to bed?” I ask, holding back a yawn. “I’m thinking about taking a page from Coran’s book and just passing out in my chair. No mustache, so I'm safe.”

Shiro laughs. “Come on, let's go.”

I run the scenario over again in my head: Shiro having a couple beers along with a pool game or three, and getting his rocks off with some senior cadet; said cadet blabbing it all over the Garrison. Thinking about it now, I don’t feel anything at all.

Well, I feel exhausted. And itchy and pent up with too much testosterone or whatever, but that has nothing to do with Shiro. That’s all me.

That’s always been me.

“Keith,” Shiro says, and I jerk at the feel of his hand on my shoulder. I’ve been staring at nothing for who knows how long. "Bed."

“Yeah, I’m going,” I tell him. "See me going?"

His hand slides to the small of my back, and he gives me a gentle push. “I see that,” he says. "I see you going."

"Totally," I say. "Definitely going."

"That's good, Keith," he says.

"Uh-huh," I tell him. "Going now."

"A little faster, though, Keith," he urges.

I blink wearily down and realize I haven't actually gone anywhere. 

Groaning, I force my body to do as he says. My legs feel like deadweights. So do my eyelids. Instead of heading straight to his room, which is closer, Shiro walks me to mine. 

"You didn't have to," I tell him as I open the door and stumble inside.

"I didn't want you dropping in the corridor on the way here. Lance would come across you in the morning and wake us all up screaming that you're dead," he says. 

"Or write on my face with a Sharpie," I suggest. "He'd give me a unibrow and cat whiskers. Shiro, Galra aren't _cats_. Do _not_ buy Sharpies."

" _Bed_ ," he orders, and points.

I drag myself over to it and flop down face first. I close my eyes and sigh at how good it feels to lie down. Shiro tugs off my boots. His palms run over my calves, smoothing my pants down to my ankles.

"You should stay," I tell him. I turn my head so I'm not mumbling into the mattress, but I don't open my eyes. "My sheets are clean." I pat the bed beside me.

He makes an amused sound. "I don't think there's enough room for two."

"You can lie on top of me," I suggest. "C'mon."

"You are out of line, cadet," he tells me.

I laugh.

"Goodnight, Keith," he says, and pats my head.

"Mmmhmm," I tell him.

The door whooshes open and clicks shut.

The room is still. I sigh into the silence and roll over onto my back. It's no better, so I roll back onto my front again. Then onto my side.

I am too tired to sleep.

It's good Shiro didn't stay. My judgment's shot (Sharpies? Really? I'm delirious.), and I might've said something we'd both regret. If I spilled, it could open a real can of worms. Open me up like a sword slash to the gut. Shiro doesn’t need that, and _I_ don’t need him dealing with it.

But I do really need to get laid.

Desperately, _achingly_ need to.

I undo my pants and slide a hand inside to give myself an experimental squeeze. But I know it won't do any good when I'm this exhausted. I'd only work myself into a lather and then have to wait it out. I roll back onto my stomach.

And I think of Yarok.

I've stopped involving people in my hormonal outbursts if their opinions matter to me. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve ended friendships.

Well, maybe not friendships. I don’t do friendships so well. But acquaintances. People who _could’ve_ been friends, maybe. Classmates. Other kids I got stuck in foster with. Fellow cadets at Galaxy Garrison. People who have actual _feelings_ and want sex to mean more than just getting off.

I like Yarok. That’s exactly why I should stop thinking about him like this. Stop wondering if Galras’ naturally higher body temperature would make his mouth feel extra hot against mine. Stop thinking about him stripped naked, his dark skin smooth against me. Stop wondering if every part of him is proportional and how sweet it would burn when he pressed inside me.

I wish I could turn my brain off. Yarok's off limits. But I can’t go around getting with random guys and acting like it won't matter. I'm a _paladin of Voltron_ , for god's sake!

So what the hell do I do?

I fall asleep before I come up with the answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Unless you are part Galra, please use caution when having sex with aliens.

CHAPTER 3

Yarok brings me candy. I pop a piece in my mouth beneath the purple-tinged light of the training room. I’ve gotten more sleep, but with the ever-spreading chaos caused by Zarkon's defeat, I haven’t had time until now to train with the Blades.

I’ve had plenty of time for sexual frustration. At this point, it’s oozing out my pores. It pounds like a second heartbeat behind my sternum and gnaws at the pit of my stomach. It throbs like a sore tooth at the apex of my thighs. Despite several epic jerkoff sessions, I am a keg of hormonal gunpowder ready to blow.

I can’t believe no one’s called me on it.

Yarok’s candy tastes like the wasp larvae in concentrated form, minus the creepiness factor. There’s that unplaceable flavor that’s so amazing, and in my current state, it all but overwhelms me. When I roll the candy over my tongue, my eyes drift shut. A wave of desire washes through me, and I make a noise of satisfaction I can’t hear because my heart is beating too hard in my ears.

When I come to myself again, Yarok is looking at me with wide eyes. “I take it you like the candy.”

I nod, tucking the sticky sweet against my cheek with my tongue to answer. “Mmhmm, ‘s good,” I tell him. “Thanks.”

“It's my pleasure,” he assures me.

“Uh-uh. Mine,” I say, and lick the flavor from my lips.

Yarok clears his throat. “Are you ready to begin?”

I think about this for a minute. My gloves are in the pocket on my belt. I could take them out and put them on. Stick the candies in their place to save for later.

They're in a long tube of paper like a roll of Mentos. The outside is covered in excited-looking writing I can't read. Pressing along the paper, I can feel eight more in the package. “Gonna eat these first,” I tell him, decision made.

He gives me a look I can’t read. “Do you not want to train today?”

I shrug.

“I should've saved the treat for after,” he says with a hesitant smile.

I slide the candy over my tongue again, suppress a shiver, and think of something I’d rather do with Yarok than sparring. Several somethings. “Where’s your room?” I ask, because I’ve lost all sense of shame. I’m cinched in tighter than my candies in their wrapper, my need bulging out at the seams. “How come I’ve never seen it?”

“You... would like to see my room?” Yarok says, skeptical.

I shrug.

He shrugs back. I wonder if it means the same thing to a Galra as it does to a human.

I roll the candy across my tongue, put a hand on my hip, and raise an eyebrow. The warm press of my Marmora suit against my skin makes my breath catch in my throat.

Yarok shows me his room.

It’s small, gray, and neat. A few posters cling to the walls, breaking up the monochrome with splashes of color. A metal rail runs around the circumference at Galra waist height, and I slide my fingers along it. I imagine I’m touching something else.

“In case we lose gravity,” Yarok says, motioning toward the handrail. “If our reserves are depleted, power automatically redirects to more essential systems. I’ve slept several cycles anchored to it.”

“Nice,” I tell him absently.

His bed is built into the wall just like mine in the Castleship, but it’s several feet longer. It has a pillow but no blanket. That’s fine for what I’m planning to use it for.

Beside the bed is a built-in cabinet with a vanity top. On it sit a mini datapad, an extra eyepiece for his suit, and a handful of luminescent purple rings. I bridge the five steps separating it from me and pick one up. I expect it to feel like glass, but it bends easily, twisting between my fingers.

“My compatriots call me vain,” Yarok says.

Looking up at him, I realize I’m holding the rim of one of his glowing ear pegs. One of his furry ears flicks as though it understands. “I wondered,” I tell him.

I wonder if all Galra like having their ears sucked the way I do.

“Keep it,” he says when I go to set the ring down.

“What for?” I ask.

He steps up behind me and rests a hand against my shoulder. The heat of his body warms me even through our suits, and I lean in to him. Taking the ring from me, he squeezes around the outside, twists it in half, and slides it over my thumb.

At first, nothing happens. Then the ring contracts, flattening to form an X shape over my knuckle. It creates a solid bond with my skin. I bend my thumb and find that it moves just fine.

“If you have an injury to an extremity, this will help until you can obtain medical attention,” Yarok tells me, voice low and close. His gloved hand rests on my wrist. “It has the ability to seal the wound.”

“Or make your ears look pretty,” I add.

“Or make my ears look pretty,” he agrees. His thumb rubs up my forearm.

A shiver runs through me. Why am I still wearing so many clothes? I look up over my shoulder at Yarok. My nose is level with his chest. Pressing back against him, I run my free hand up his thigh. His face flushes a deeper purple.

“So?” I prompt.

Yarok shifts against me, the long line of his body firm against my back. He slides his knuckles across my cheek. His eyes glow wide and golden. “Keith,” he says.

“Yarok,” I say, a little mocking and a little desperate. “You’re gonna have to bend down if you want this to happen.”

He blinks at me like he hadn’t thought of it. Then a blur of purple crosses my vision, and his lips meet mine. They’re soft and just as hot as I’d hoped, holding a promise of blissful violence. With a firm hand at my waist, he turns me and pulls me in.

My mouth opens to him, and his tongue meets mine, knowing and hungry. His mouth has the salty-metallic taste of a living, breathing being. Mine tastes like the sliver of candy left melting inside my cheek.

I lace my fingers into the stiff hair at the back of Yarok’s neck, urging him closer, deepening the kiss. My tongue scrapes against the sharp points of his teeth, and it makes my grip tighten in his hair. Yarok moans, and my breath catches.

Hooking an arm over his shoulders, I pull myself up off my feet. His strong arms come around me to hold me up. He's hard against my knee, and this height difference is frustrating as hell.

“Bed,” I breathe against his mouth, “now.” I bite his bottom lip to show I mean it.

He believes me. My back hits the mattress, and his body glides on top of mine, mouth never letting up. His fingers tug at the neck of my suit. He shed his gloves at some point, and the scrape of his claws against my collarbone makes me gasp and arch against him.

“Is this how you like it, paladin?” he asks against my lips, before pressing his tongue back in against mine. It’s that full, slick feeling I want to feel somewhere else, and it makes my head reel.

Yarok gets my Blade suit pulled down over my shoulders, and I struggle to yank my arms out. I can’t get my mouth free to answer, so I bite down on his tongue. He gasps and pulls me to him, thigh jammed between mine and grip straddling the edge of painful.

I am so close to losing my mind, bombarded by so much sensation I've been needing for so long. Yarok’s hips move in an unending flow against me, almost like he’s already inside me. The sounds I’m making into his mouth are turning me on as much as they are him.

One swift move like peeling fruit, and my suit comes off. Yarok tosses the dark fabric to the floor. The sudden chill of the air makes me want to cling to him, but he won't let me. He pushes me back against his bed with a single clawed hand to my chest. 

Losing the warmth of his body against mine makes me feel like I’ve lost a limb. I grab at his wrist, needing that heat, but I can’t pull it off me. He presses down harder, forcing the air from my lungs.

It’s so good. I am tiny and naked and defenseless, and all I want is for him to prove it to me. My body is his. All he has to do is stake his claim.

“You are so exquisite,” Yarok says, breath coming fast. His chest rises and falls as he runs his free hand down my stomach to where I’m throbbing.

I gasp as he takes hold of me, straining for breath, so hard and so desperate. “How does that feel, paladin?” he asks.

I moan something incomprehensible even to myself, and he laughs and eases up a little on my chest. His thumb rubs across the head of my cock. I gasp, “Do it already!”

“Do what, paladin?” he teases.

“Stop playing around and put it in me,” I demand, slapping his lower hand away. He runs it up my stomach, claws leaving the faintest marks. “Or don’t you know how?”

Yarok’s tongue slides across his bottom lip. “You have no idea how much I would like to. Are you sure you can take it?”

I kick out with my right leg and nail him in the thigh. “Stop talking,” I order.

He winces and lets up on his hold enough for me to twist out from under him and onto my hands and knees. I arch my back to give him a better view. Tipping my chin, I look back over my shoulder. “Do it.”

Yarok gapes.

I roll my eyes and spread my legs. “Come _on_!”

Thankfully, he does. Steadying me by the hip, he presses a finger inside me. I’ve been needing this for so long, I’m already slick and loose. Yarok’s breath catches. “You _are_ ready, aren’t you?”

“I _told_ you,” I groan, and push myself back onto his finger. I shudder when it sinks in past his second knuckle.

“Is— are you safe?” he asks.

“Nngh, _yes_! Damn it!” I gasp. The Garrison’s mandatory health testing pays off in so many ways.

Yarok reaches an arm under me and drags me to the edge of the bed. I squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation. His finger leaves, and I feel empty until something larger presses in its place.

“Oh, _yeeeeees_ ,” I moan as he fills me, slow and smooth. The burn is perfect. Yarok is so big.

“Look how beautifully you take it,” he murmurs. He pulls back, making me gasp, and then presses in further.

“Harder,” I tell him. “Come on. You won’t break me.”

Though that’s what I need— to be broken. To be completely torn to erotic shreds to make this unbearable ache inside me stop.

“Just warming you up, paladin,” Yarok assures me. He follows it with a sharp pop of his hips against my ass that makes us both gasp for breath. 

“ _More_ ,” I demand when I catch my breath.

He presses his lips to my neck and murmurs in my ear, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“You wish,” I taunt, so full but needing it so bad. “I can handle anything you—“

He takes hold of my hips and does his best to prove me wrong. 

It is _so much_. The grasp of his clawed fingers on my hips, the press-and-pull of his cock inside me, the fleshy slap of his hips hitting mine. The obscene wet squelch as he moves inside me, so thick and full, makes me groan and arch into him. I beg for _More, more!_ and force my ass back against Yarok's hips when he bottoms out. 

My hands go numb, head spinning, and I collapse onto my elbows. My face hits the mattress, and I open my mouth, tonguing Yarok's sheets as he draws sharp gasps from my lips. His breath hisses out between clenched teeth, and he hauls me up to meet him, pulling my knees off the bed. His hips work to an even faster tempo against my ass, a steady, unrelenting pleasure. 

"You feel so good, Keith... you _make me feel_ so good," Yarok gasps. "So small but you take me in so deep, such strength, I could _lose myself_ , I could--"

" _Faster_ ," I moan against the bed. My hands reach blindly back for his hips, fingertips scrabbling uselessly at his hot skin. "Faster, harder, _more_..."

Yarok groans and forces my thighs further apart, bending over my body in a surge of motion as he thrusts into me. The force of it pulls the breath from my lungs. "Like _this_ , paladin? Until you can't _stand_? Until you can't feel-- _ha!_ \-- anything but _me_?"

His heat is everywhere. Above me, around me, inside me... until my entire world is enveloped in the wet-hot feel of sex. "Need it!" I gasp. My fingernails scrape uselessly at his hips every time he smacks against me. "So full-- _please!_ \-- give me-- I gotta _come_ , Yarok!"

He growls and fucks into me so hard, I see stars. My vision darkens, the whole universe and all its galaxies held in sway by the motion of Yarok's body, in and out turned to a blur of starlight and raw pleasure and blissfully biting pain. I barely hear him growling out, _Come, come, please, come, Keith!_ as I grasp my cock with a hand I can't feel anymore. 

The orgasm washes through me, wave after wave of relief, a flood of pleasure so deep and long it feels like I'm going to drown in it. I scream with it, rocking as the waves wrack my body. Yarok is shouting above me, thrusting and gasping and pressing in too hard, but he's such a long ways away, a planet in a different system spinning on its axis among alien constellations. 

He is nothing and nowhere.

And in that moment, so am I.

I'm not out very long-- maybe a few heartbeats. Yarok doesn't notice. He's a warm, solid presence above me. His hips are still pressed tight against me, and his hands are planted on either side of my shoulders. His breath tickles my ear.

I am filled with perfect exhaustion in a way that all the sparring in the world couldn’t accomplish. There’s a comfort to it, like something wrong has been righted. Something broken was fixed. A need I had was met.

I could lie here for a decaphebe.

But there’s a war going on. Voltron could be called on at any time, and basking in the afterglow isn’t on my list of priorities. I clear my throat and press back at Yarok, patting his hand and hoping he takes the hint.

He groans and pulls himself up. I wince as he pulls out, my insides raw and used. He lies me gently on my side and slides down beside me. Like mine, his face is flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat. His lips are kiss-swollen.

He didn’t take his suit off. 

The purple glow of the pattern on his chest matches his ears. He just undid the waist, like he had to take a piss. It's weird that I didn't notice until now. It's so impersonal. I guess I should be grateful.

I close my eyes.

“Was that what you wanted?” Yarok asks. His voice sounds raw.

“Yeah,” I tell him, not opening my eyes. “Thanks.”

Yarok puffs a laugh. “I have never been thanked for such a thing before.” Something touches my cheek, and I flinch before I realize it’s his fingertips. _Relax, Keith_.

“Seems polite,” I murmur, though I’ve never said it before. I’m not a polite person. Maybe it’s because Yarok is different.

_Is_ he different?

Am _I_ different?

A big part of me hopes one of us is.

I find Yarok’s hand with mine and wrap my fingers around it.

Yarok brings my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Shall we do this again sometime?”

With a sigh, I pull my hand free. I roll away and heave myself up to sit on the edge of the bed. It twinges, but I’m not as sore as I could be. That’s good. I have things to do. I didn't think this whole thing through. As usual.

“Is that a no?” Yarok asks.

My suit is in a pile on the floor that I don’t feel like picking up. But I don’t feel like being naked next to Yarok, either. I go for the suit, pulling it on carefully one foot at a time. I'm still pretty shaky. Crouching, I gather up my belt and blade. I stuck the candy in the pocket on my belt, but it rolled out onto the floor. I grab the package and stuff it back in. 

Yarok sits up.

“Look,” I start. I can't quite manage to finish the thought. He’s tucking himself back into his suit, and the lighting isn't great, but it’s a lot of purple. An _extremely_ large amount. Words leave me.

“Not very promising,” Yarok mutters into his chest.

I shake my head impatiently to knock the image free. How am I not sore? I am going to be _so_ sore. This is not good. “I don’t wanna make this into something it’s not,” I tell him. 

Yarok nods. “And what is it not?”

I want to throw things. I hate talking about this stuff. Instead, I loop my belt around my hips. “I don’t usually do this. I’m bad at it.”

“You had _me_ fooled,” Yarok says.

“I just... I don’t catch feelings, okay?” I tell him. “I’m not like that."

"What is _catch feelings_?" Yarok asks.

I sigh. Stupid cultural differences. "I'm not someone who... feels emotional. Over other people. I don't get _attached_. So talking about doing it again... making plans... I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why are you talking about feelings?” Yarok asks. “I’m talking about sex.”

“I’m just telling you how it is,” I say, cautious but with some hope. He looks genuinely confused. Maybe this will be okay. “Sex is... I only want it when I want it, and I don’t want any strings attached. So I don’t know if it’s happening again.“

Yarok shrugs. “I'm not asking for a commitment. If you'd like to do it again, simply say so. I have no current attachments.”

“Okay, then,” I say. I nod, and he nods back. That will work.

I mean, maybe it actually _will_.

“Would you like to continue your combat training now?” Yarok asks.

I wince at the thought. “Not a chance.”

Yarok raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to say something I'm pretty sure I'm not going to like. We're saved from the fallout when the lights in his room start flashing and an alarm sounds. He springs to alert.

"Is that an attack?" I demand. They have different alarms for different things, but there are dozens. I haven't learned them all yet. I pat myself to make sure I have what I need.

Yarok pulls his hood up, and his mask forms over his face. He points me toward the door. "Emergency cooperative mission announcement." His voice modulates into something computerized and untouchable. "You should get to your lion. Voltron will be needed."

"On it. Good luck," I tell him.

He nods and darts away down the corridor to the control room. 

I run the other way. As the staggered lights of the living quarters flash by, I mentally kick myself. I wore my Blade of Marmora suit here. I didn't bring my paladin armor. Thinking with the wrong head. Stupid. I spin down the firehouse-style pole to the level where Red is docked.

I've just gotten myself into my seat, Red raising his head in readiness, when the Castleship bursts into view. I put the Control Deck on my view screen because I have no idea if anyone's feeding me instructions. I can't hear a thing. I don't have my helmet. 

Allura appears on the screen. "Keith! I'm glad you're still here. We will need you to transport the contingent of Blades. They will be to your lion momentarily."

"What's happening?" I ask. "When I heard the alarm, I came running. Nobody's briefed me."

She gives me a confused look. She says, "Isn't Shiro--" and realizes I'm wearing purple.

"Save the lecture," I tell her. "I know I screwed up. What's going on?"

"The Galra are attempting to put down a rebellion in a nearby sector," she tells me, not looking happy. "We're going to use the Teludav to get Voltron there as quickly as possible. We need you to deliver the Blades as ground support. It's on a planet called Puig."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

By the time Voltron heads back to the Castleship, I’m crashing.

Puig has been freed from Galra control. Its people were so thankful, they vowed to join the new Voltron Coalition on the spot. It's amazing to see our work paying off in a very real way. We're doing more than saving lives. Voltron is changing the universe.

But the slant of Red’s seat puts pressure on all the wrong places, and I grit my teeth until my jaw aches. Some of the Puigians brought out platters of things vaguely resembling food, and the few bites I managed to gag down ride like an anchor in my stomach. And I feel sick for other reasons.

I tell myself it’s stupid. This always happens. I am not a people person. Even casual conversation is usually a stretch. Someone shoving part of his anatomy up mine is a whole different ball game.

I can’t internalize the rules and keep striking out.

But it’s okay this time. Yarok is fine with it. I offered what I have to give, and he accepted. He’s Galra, not human. He _gets_ it. He said so.

So what’s this sense of dread that’s eating at me?

“You look like you could use some downtime,” Shiro tells me at dinner.

I’m not sure how I look, but if Shiro's commenting on it, I'm guessing it's about the same as I feel. The budding soreness Yarok left in me turned into an acute throbbing, then leached into bone-deep fatigue. On top of that, the inside of my suit is uncomfortably sticky. I should've cleaned myself up afterwards. And I should've changed before I sat down with the team to eat.

This day is just chock-full of bad choices.

“Yeah. Guess I’ve been pushing myself pretty hard lately,” I tell Shiro. I poke at my food goo with my spoon, but it's pointless. Eating is not happening. 

Lance makes a noise of protest. “ _Pushing_ yourself? More like having fun with your new bros while you leave _us_ high and dry. You've barely _been_ here lately."

"Right. Because playing your video games is so much more important than my training," I tell him.

"Video games _are_ important," Pidge interjects. She shakes her spoon at me. "And getting that system to work without a proper television or standardized electrical current was a technological achievement anyone would be proud of."

"Though the 36-hour gaming marathon was maybe not," Hunk says.

"I've had better ideas," she admits.

"No worse than playing Marmorite dress-up and starting a new _jewelry_ collection," Lance says, and motions toward my hand. The glowing ring is still twisted around my thumb where Yarok put it. I'd forgotten about it.

"It's a _medical implement_. I was testing it out!" I snap, face burning. I rip it off and toss it onto the table. Pidge snaps it up with an intrigued look. "And when did _you_ ever go anywhere and bring back anything useful?"

Lance bristles. "At least I'm _here_! What if we run into trouble and need Voltron again, and you can't get to us in time? What good will you be _then_?"

"What good are you _ever_?" I demand, fuming. 

So I can still get angry. It's situational, though, and not my default mode. Good to know.

"Cool it, you two," Shiro says. "It's true that Voltron needs Keith, but this is a sacrifice we have to make. Our connection with the Blade of Marmora is an essential one."

I wonder if Shiro would feel the same if he knew exactly what sort of _connection_ I'd been busy forming today.

I push my bowl of goo away and stalk off to my room.

Showering clears my mind a little. I’m overtired. I'm overreacting about Yarok. I should take advantage of what he’s offering. I'm _going_ to. If it works out, maybe we can even settle into an official arrangement. Each of us wants something the other can provide. There’s no reason to panic about it.

I keep telling myself this as I run my Blade suit through a cleaning cycle to be sanitized. When it’s done, I flop down on top of my covers, not sure how I’ll ever fall asleep. 

It takes all of five seconds.

I wake up at the Earth equivalent of 3 a.m. Temporal no man's land. I don’t feel right at all. I sit up with a groan and run my fingers through my hair. It was wet when I fell asleep, and a patch in back is mashed to my head. My body aches in the most conspicuous sort of way.

I want to regret today, but I don't. That's the weird thing. If Yarok was here, I'd beg him to do it all over again. Bend me over and do whatever he wants with me. Screw me until I can't see straight. I think of the feel of his hands on my hips, the blunt press of his cock against my hole the moment before he pushes in, and a shiver runs through me. No one's ever made me feel that good before.

Why doesn't that make me happy?

I pull on my jacket and strap my dagger around my waist. I stuff my feet into my boots. I’d be spitting venom if someone woke me up in the middle of the night because they felt weird about their life. Who cares? Not my problem.

Shiro doesn't feel that way. Shiro _wants_ you to bother him. "If I don't know there's something wrong, I can't do anything to help," he told me back at Galaxy Garrison. I think I was having problems with a teacher. I was _always_ having problems with a teacher. So I don't feel too bad about waking him up. 

When I get to his room, I lose my nerve. I press my forehead against the cool polymer of the door and my fingers into the back of my neck. My shoulders are sore. My lower back is stiff. What my ass feels like doesn’t bear mentioning.

What was I going to do, ask Shiro to give me a massage? I'm sure as hell not going to tell him what's _really_ bothering me.

Stupid. I am such an idiot.

A noise comes from Shiro’s room. I back away from the door in case he’s coming out. Nothing happens. I hear the noise again. It sounds like a voice. _Shiro's_ voice.

“Shiro?” I say, and rap my knuckles lightly against the door.

When the noise comes again, I decide it’s not a good thing. Not-good things sometimes happen with Shiro. Having your arm cut off by aliens can do that to you. I press my palm to the entrypad and let myself in.

Shiro’s room is as stark as mine. Blank walls, bare floors, ship's lights dimmed to ten percent. There’s nothing to distract from the sight of him lying face down on the floor beside his bed with a sheet tangled around his pant legs, gasping and thrashing like an injured beast. His Galra arm glows an ominous purple.

I flip him over and say his name. His forehead is wrinkled in pain. He’s covered in sweat. “Shiro!” I repeat, and shake him.

He groans and opens his eyes. I don’t think he recognizes me at first. He jerks away, his hand glowing brighter. I say his name again, and my own, and he moans and covers his face with his human hand. The glow fades.

“Come on, let's get you up off the floor,” I tell him. I hook my hands under his armpits and haul him up. 

He sags on the edge of the mattress, face in his palms.

“It was a bad dream, Shiro. That's all. It’s over now. It’s okay,” I tell him.

He shakes his head and ducks it down between his knees. When I put my hand on his back, he's trembling.

I rub a gentle circle against the sweaty fabric between his shoulder blades. “I had a bad dream, too,” I say. Which isn’t such a lie. My whole life is a bad dream some days. “I came to see if you were up. Figured I’d bug you like in the old days. Con you into buying me curly fries and a shake. One of the ones with the Oreo chunks in it.”

Shiro doesn’t say anything. I guess it was a dumb thing to say. Curly fries and shakes are more alien now than actual aliens. I _am_ an actual alien. 

Except I'm not. I can't be. I'm just me. Aliens are other people.

So I don’t say anything else. I just keep rubbing his back. 

Shiro's fingers grip at his scalp. He stays low and takes a lot of slow, deep breaths. I'm not sure how much time passes.

When he sits up, he does it too fast. His eyes roll back in his head, and he tips like he's going to fall sideways. I steady him. He gets his equilibrium back and says, “Thanks, Keith.”

I keep my hand on his arm. “It’s nothing. Feeling better? You don't need a healing pod, do you?”

He shakes his head and rubs at his eyes. 

"I can wake up Allura and get you in one," I tell him. "Can't say she's gonna love me for it, though. She says Voltron's like a family to her, but I don't think the biggest present under her tree this year's gonna be for me."

Shiro doesn't say anything. I don't think he's okay.

What am I supposed to do?

"I think she'd get me something useful that no one actually wants. What was that one show... you know, the one where the aunt gave those awful presents?" I ask. I don't expect an answer. I don't actually care what show it was. But it gives us both something to focus on. A distraction. It's what _Shiro_ would do. "She gave those _pajamas_ every year. And the kids hated them, because what kid wants pajamas? Allura would be like that. But just for me. She'd get a nice jacket or something for you, cookbooks for Hunk, and that fancy facial cream for Lance, and I'd get, I don't know..."

"Socks," Shiro mumbles.

"Exactly," I agree. I give his arm a gentle squeeze. " _Tube_ socks. An enormous pack of them. With red stripes at the top so it looked like she put in an effort. You feeling better now?"

He nods. “Sleep is hard.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. I stand and motion toward the bathroom. “Come on, you’re all sweaty. Let’s get you cleaned up, and you can give it another shot. There's plenty of time before morning.”

"Ugh," he says. His eyes look dead. He won't stand but doesn't stop me when I take him by the hand and pull him to his feet. 

His bathroom is just as tidy as mine. It's easy when you don't own anything. At first I'm thinking I'll just wipe his face off, and I go for a washcloth, but he's literally dripping. My hand is wet through his shirt, and I think could wring his pants out.

I'm not sure it's all sweat.

I turn on the shower. Shiro stares at the water like he's never seen it before.

"Gonna take your clothes off?" I ask.

He nods but doesn't.

I untuck his shirt and tell him, "Arms up," so I can pull it over his head. It's like having a drunk roommate or a small child. I toss the shirt on the floor under the sink. I'll throw it in the sanitizing unit later. 

Our bathrooms here are small, just a toilet, a sink with a tall mirror above it, and a shower without a curtain. The whole floor is angled with a drain below the showerhead so the water drains into the floor. I approve of the Altean penchant for zip lines, but their bathing facilities could use some work. When you turn on the water, half the room gets wet. It's terrible design.

After thinking a minute, I yank off my boots and socks and put them in the sink. I lay my jacket and belt over them, with my dagger on top. Being up higher will keep them out of the spray.

Shiro's feet are bare. "You're really making me take your pants off?" I ask him.

He doesn't act like he hears me.

I try not to worry, but if he keeps up like this, he's going in the cryo pod, tube socks or not.

I undo his pants and pull the wet material down his thighs. It's about as easy as you'd imagine taking damp clothes off an uncooperative person would be. Getting his feet out of the pant legs without overbalancing him brings new meaning to the phrase _Patience yields focus_. "Don't say I never did anything for you," I tell him.

He stares at the wall.

When I first get him under the water, he jerks away. I'm not sure what he's thinking, if he's thinking anything. "It's okay," I tell him. I hold him gently but firmly by the elbow. "I got you, buddy."

It's not as hard after I get his whole body under the spray. He stands still for me, and the glowing Altean soap is easy to squirt across his broad shoulders. I spread the lather around with my palms and pop phosphorescent bubbles against his collarbones. I rub gently at his skin where it fuses with the metal of his Galra arm. I wash the suds down his ribs to his narrow waist and his long, solid thighs. He stands there and lets me do it. 

I thought his skin would be rougher, but I don't know why.

When I'm satisfied his body's clean, I tip his head back under the showerhead and work shampoo into his hair. The little white tuft in front is stiffer than the rest of it. The short trim of his undercut could be bristles on the universe's softest brush. Who knew hair could feel like that? 

When I tell Shiro to close his eyes so I can rinse, he does.

The front of me ends up sopping wet, my clothes clinging to me like a second skin. I don't mind. When I towel Shiro's hair off, he gives me a valiant attempt at a smile and thanks me again. "You'd do the same for me," I tell him. 

It's not really true. Making Shiro better again is a good feeling. I know it's the same for him when he makes _me_ feel better, so that part's equal. But there's something more to this. Something selfish. 

The lines and curves of his body feel so nice under my palms, I want to keep touching him for a really long time. Way longer than it takes to dry him off. And it doesn't have anything to do with how it's making _him_ feel. I said once he was like a brother to me, but that's not what this feels like. And I don't think it's a normal way to feel about a friend who just wet himself from PTSD. 

I wonder if it's a Galra thing.

When Shiro's dry, I tidy up the bathroom and wrap a towel around him so I can lead him back out into his room. The air is cooler here without the steam of the shower. 

I don't think he wears his paladin pajamas any more than I do. He has two pairs, and they're hanging way in the back of his closet. The ones I pick are silky and grey, and soft under my hands. Shiro's a little more with it now and can help me. When he's dressed, I pat him on the back and tell him, "You did good."

Then I change his sheets. The universe has a definite sense of irony. 

"Time for bed," I tell Shiro.

"You're all wet," he says to me as I lay him down. His eyes look sad but clear.

"S'okay," I tell him. "You gotta sleep now."

He nods. "Thanks, Keith."

"You don't have to keep thanking me," I tell him. I slide down onto the floor beside his bed to make sure he stays there. "Now close your eyes. Our leader needs his rest. I'll stay until you fall asleep."

He does as I say.

The room is silent except for the sound of Shiro's breathing. It must be 4 a.m. by now. The side of Shiro's bed is hard against my back. I'm cold in my wet clothes. My dagger is still in the sink, and I feel strangely naked without it. Defenseless. Vulnerable. 

Shiro's breathing slows.

He's out like a light, and I am so, _so_ relieved. 

Pulling myself up off the floor, I get a blanket out of his closet. He's on his back, his Galra hand beside his head and his human one over his heart. He shifts in his sleep when I lay the blanket over him. His lips are parted, and his dark eyelashes fan out against his cheeks.

Seeing him like this brings back a memory.

We were stargazing from the bed of an LWT after making deliveries for the Garrison off base. Shiro pulled some strings so I could go with him. Like most nights in the desert, it was cold, and we were lying close for the warmth, with Shiro's jacket spread over both of us. ("I've got more meat on my bones," he teased when I protested.)

"One day, I'm gonna go out there and never come back," I told him, staring out into the blackness of space. I had one hand in the air, tracing the constellation Gemini with the point of my finger. I was sixteen and just learning how to dream. Shiro was teaching me. "You should come, too." 

He didn't answer, and I looked over to see if he was smiling. But he didn't hear me. He was asleep. 

His face under the starlight looked just like this. 

We've come so far from there, but somehow not so far at all. It could be yesterday. It could be now.

I could still dream.

I shiver and pull my shirt free from where it's stuck to my clammy skin. I press my fingers to my lips and then touch my fingertips to the thin lines above Shiro's right eyebrow. Lines he didn't have back on Earth, when his hair was still dark and my life was filled with a fledgling sense of possibility. He sighs in his sleep and moves toward my touch.

He is so beautiful, I could cry.

"Sleep well," I whisper.

I grab my stuff out of the sink, put on my socks and boots, and go back to my room.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Yarok hands me a hexagonal case the size of a dinner plate that reminds me of the containers old people use for keeping their pills straight. This one's for something different. It's made of a translucent, plastic-y material, with a bulging section that glows green in the center and a ring of compartments along the outside edge. The center section is filled with gel. Around the outside are condoms.

"We should have done this the first time," Yarok says. "That was irresponsible of me. My apologies."

"I was kind of in a hurry," I tell him.

He grins. "I noticed." The way the points of his teeth dig into his bottom lip makes my heart flip in my chest. It's a good thing we're standing two feet from his bed. I'm needing it pretty bad.

Each of the compartments along the rim of the container has a different-colored button that matches the color of the condom inside. I guess so you can find them easier. I press the red button and pull out the rolled material inside. It has hard beads arranged in ridges down the sides. If the length is in proportion to its diameter, I could probably wear it like an elbow glove. 

"That one?" Yarok says. "Are you sure?"

"No," I tell him, and put it back in. I open the compartment beside it, which holds a green condom. The material is so slippery, it slides out of my fingers and back into the container.

"I don't think that one will be necessary," Yarok tells me.

"Why don't _you_ pick?" I say.

He shrugs. I hand him the container. His fingers brush mine, and I shiver in anticipation.

He pops open a different compartment. The condom inside is a fiery swirl of orange and yellow. It looks smaller in his hand than in mine. Definitely not a glove. His claws would poke holes in it. "Extra warm?" he offers.

"For you or just me?" I ask.

He laughs. "I don't think _you_ need any extra!"

I don't know why that's funny, but if it ends up with me on my hands and knees again, I'm all for it.

We did manage to get some combat training in before we went to his room, this time. Sparring with someone you're going to bare your ass for later is a tricky thing. My body isn't sure anymore how to take his presence. Sometimes it reacts like it should, and other times, it revels in the feel of him in the most unsafe places. One time he got behind me, and I shifted toward him instead of away. 

My internal warning system is shot. But it's something I'm going to have to learn to get over. This is good practice.

Yarok presses on the compartment in the middle of the container, and it pops open. He puts the condom into the gel and closes the lid. The whole thing makes a whirring noise, and the light blinks yellow. 

"Could I kiss you?" Yarok asks.

"You better," I tell him.

He does. 

His mouth isn't the overwhelming presence it was last time, but I let myself relax into the feel of him, and my body doesn't fail to respond. My hand goes to his neck, and my hips angle toward him. The tip of his tongue slides in between my lips, and the sensation reminds me of the way he moves on the training room floor, so perfectly in sync with me. I grasp at his hair and open my mouth further, urging him in.

Yarok makes a pleased noise and drops down onto his knees. It makes us roughly the same height, though things still don't match up quite right. I'm so damn short. But it feels good to press against him and have the solid plane of his muscled chest press back. His arms wrap around me. I suck on his bottom lip.

Something makes a beeping noise, and Yarok pulls away. On the vanity table beside his bed, the middle compartment on the condom case is flashing green.

"Could I undress you?" Yarok asks. His claws bite expectantly into my hip.

"Knock yourself out," I tell him.

He blinks. "Knock myself...?"

"It's just an expression," I tell him, running my fingers through his bristly hair. "It means, _Go for it_."

Yarok nods. His clawed fingers reach for my uniform.

I pull away and shake my head. Even better idea. "You first. Take your things off."

"You don't want to do it for me?" he asks.

I take a seat on his bed. "I wanna watch _you_ do it," I tell him.

He likes this answer. 

It's actually mostly true. I've never seen a Galra naked before. (Except myself, of course. _I'm_ Galra.) I want to see what I'm working with. 

I watch closely as Yarok slides out of his suit, his purple skin emerging like he's shedding a cocoon. He's every bit as covered in muscle as I expected, but the muscles are long and pulled taut against his frame, like they've been stretched to fit. He doesn't have much more hair on his body than I do, but what he has is the same shade as his skin. It's hard to see except in his underarms and in a line leading from just below his navel to the base of his cock. 

My memory of it didn't exaggerate its size. If anything, I underestimated. And it's already showing interest.

I wonder if he'd let me taste it.

"Like what you see?" Yarok asks.

I crook a finger at him and beckon him toward the bed. "Wanna see up close."

He likes that. A certain part of his anatomy likes that. It pulls up higher in attention.

_I_ like that.

Yarok stands in front of me, his weight on one leg, hand on his hip. He tips his head to the side, chin up in smirking challenge.

"I don't think that will fit in my mouth," I tell him.

His lips quirk. His cock twitches. "I imagine you're correct."

"I think I'll give it a try anyway," I tell him. "Bring it here."

Sitting on the edge of the bed puts me at a pretty good height. I take hold of his hip and press my thumb against the sharp hipbone. 

He doesn't look so different from me. The shaft widens near the bottom edge and comes almost to a point at the top, like there's a tendon pulling the whole thing up toward his navel. Sharper angles at the head, too, make the tip look almost triangular. The slick-looking divot in the center has a reddish cast.

Below, his balls hang separately, each held in its own individual pocket of soft, lightly furred skin. They're not any bigger than mine. Smaller, I think. I slide my fingers gently around one, and Yarok breathes in sharply.

"Be careful with those," he warns.

"Mine don't look like that," I tell him, ghosting my fingertips underneath. Yarok breathes in again, and his cock jerks. It's at full attention now.

"I noticed," he murmurs. One of his hands reaches behind my ear and weaves into my hair. 

"It makes sense to separate them," I tell him, sighing at the feel of his claws gently scraping my scalp. "Better not to keep all your eggs in one basket."

Yarok snorts. "Those are _not_ eggs."

It makes me laugh. 

"Do you find it so amusing to pet to inundation another Galra's--?" He ends this question with a word so entirely foreign, it's untranslatable. I'm pretty sure I couldn't pronounce it. 

"Shouldn't I?" I ask. 

He shrugs. His finger traces the outside of my ear. My body tingles. It feels so good. "If it pleases you."

"What if I used my mouth on them?" I ask, since he seems so cautious about the things. This is uncharted territory in more ways than one. 

Yarok steps closer, wedging his knees between mine. I gladly spread my legs. "There is a more direct route," he murmurs. The end of his shaft bobs near my chin.

I run my hands up his backside, which is hard with muscle and hairless. I make him gasp when I squeeze. "Good idea," I say, and lower my lips to the head of his cock. "Direct is good."

He tastes sweeter than I expected. And considering we just finished working out, I thought he'd smell like sweat, but his scent is sweet also, with a faint spice to it. I rub my tongue over the head of his cock, up and down, and revel in the sound of his moaning.

Spreading my lips wide, I can barely fit the thing in my mouth. My teeth scrape the ridge on the top, and Yarok hisses. His hand slides across the nape of my neck and presses me down further onto his length. I relax my jaw as well as I can, but only a few inches will fit.

Yarok's stomach clenches. His breath catches. He bellows when I start to suck. " _Keith!_ Aaah-- _aa!_ Oh--! _Keith!_ "

It's a better reaction than I expected. No one's _ever_ liked it this much before. His claws dig into my neck, and I grab at my cock through my suit. I've never been so turned on in my life. No one's ever said my name like that while my mouth was stuffed full of their cock. I work it in further, sliding it out a little and then back in again. It tastes incredible. I could come just like this.

I don't want to.

With one last suck, I push Yarok away and scramble for the condom case. He yanks my suit off my shoulders and almost makes me drop the condom when the sleeves come off my wrists. I stick the gooey edge of it in my mouth so I can use both hands to help pull off the rest of the purple and black fabric. 

"Now, _now_ , it's _too much_ ," Yarok pleads. His hands spread my thighs to shove a finger roughly inside. "I _need_ it!"

Pleasure shoots through me, and I have to shove his hand away so I can get the condom out of my mouth. "I _know_ , let me put it on," I order. I reach for his cock.

"You are too incredible, I can't resist, the things you _do_ \--" he gasps.

To my relief, the smooth material rolls easily onto his length. It's bad, I know, but my knowledge is theoretical. I've never actually used one before. 

Bad Keith. Self-destructive Keith. 

My heart skips a beat when I roll down to the base of his cock and get a sight of his balls. They're easily three times the size of mine now. The individual pockets have come together to form one large, bulging mass. The skin is an angry red, stretched to capacity.

"I am taking you _now_ ," Yarok growls, and flips me over. 

There's no wait. His cock is at my entrance a split second before he shoves it in, so deep and fast it knocks the breath out of me. I cry out in shock and pleasure when his hand wraps around my cock. So tight and warm, his fist pumps me at the same tempo his hips piston his cock into my hole, bottoming out again and again and again.

I'm arching and writhing and gasping at his touch, senses overloaded with the _slap slap slap_ of hips meeting my ass, body on autopilot. I hear myself shouting but don't know what I'm saying. The merciless thrusting of the body above me is the perfect drug to soothe the aching emptiness inside. I could shoot up forever.

My hair is yanked back, a tongue slides into my ear, something inside me blossoms bright and hot, and I come _hard_. 

I scream and scream, and the body above me slows. Teeth clamp onto the back of my neck, and with one enormous shove against that perfect place inside me, a roar shakes me as my partner reaches his climax. He jerks and trembles and moans and gasps my name. I've forgotten his.

Afterwards, he spoons in behind me and licks at the bleeding marks he left on my neck. "I'm sorry," he says, stroking gentle purple fingers over my hip.

"It's fine," I tell him. My voice is hoarse, and my throat is raw. I feel so thoroughly used, I might never be able to unfeel it. I love it and hate it.

"Did you like it?" he asks. _Yarok_ , I remember. _His name is Yarok_. "I didn't mean to be so rough."

"I told you you wouldn't break me," I remind him. I clear my throat, but it doesn't help.

"You were so completely wrapped up in my touch," he murmurs. He presses a kiss to my shoulder. "Such a brave little paladin."

"You're not as tough as you think you are," I lie.

He chuckles. His fingers ghost across my stomach. "I could lose myself in you, Keith."

"Pretty hard to lose something that big," I tell him.

He nuzzles in behind my ear. "Your body is so ripe. I could feel your--" he says another indecipherable Galra word "--against me as I met my completion."

"Me, too," I tell him. "It felt nice."

He laughs into my shoulder. "The things you say!"

I don't know why saying it is so outrageous when he's the one who brought it up. But since we're on the topic of saying weird things, I ask, "Why do your balls get bigger during sex?"

"It would be uncomfortable if they were that size all the time, don't you think?" he says.

"No, seriously," I say, and roll to face him. I run my hands up his chest and rest my index fingers on his nipples. They're firm and pointed. "Mine don't change size. _Humans'_ don't."

He frowns. Taking one of my hands in his, he brings it to his lips. "How do you get the semen into them?" He presses a line of kisses across my knuckles.

It's been a while since I studied anatomy, and it's such a strange question, I have to think about that for a minute. "It's always there. It's _made_ there."

"The solid and liquid both? How very strange humans are!" he proclaims. "Is it always so colorless, then?"

I don't know what he means. He's cleaned himself up, and the condom is back in its case being re-rolled and disinfected. Was it colored last time? He left it in me, and I distinctly remember the slippery-soft feel of it. But I was so tired when I finally took off the suit, and it's black across the waist. So I didn't notice...

It occurs to me that throughout Voltron's entire mission and our dinner after, I was sitting in a puddle of Yarok's apparently-not-white come. 

What if something had happened? What if I'd been injured? What if Shiro had had to put me in medical garb to get me in the cryo pod for healing, and he'd seen...

"Is it purple or something?" I ask. 

I can't describe how horrified this thought makes me.

Yarok looks appalled. "Of course not! What kind of question is that? Do I seem _ill_ to you?"

I am not in the mood for this. I'm lying here _again_ when I should be back at the Castleship in case Team Voltron needs me. I'm being selfish and letting my team down. And getting annoyed at Yarok for not making any sense. 

And feeling _sick_ with myself taking such a stupid risk.

I roll away and push myself up on the edge of the bed. " _Ouch_ ," I hiss before I can check myself. 

"Are you alright?" Yarok asks, sitting up beside me.

"Just a little sore," I say, trying not to wince. "It'll fade."

Yarok makes a noise of understanding and helps me gather up my things. "I know the feeling. Don't think I haven't been in your place before. I won't be so rough on you next time. We'll try something softer. Something sweet."

"The only _sweet_ I want is those candies," I tell him, wishing he would just go away.

He laughs. "I'll get you some more."

"I'm taking that as a promise. Don't forget," I order him. The menace of it is ruined when I have to hold onto his arm to get my feet in my suit. 

He straps my belt on for me. "Anything for you, my little paladin."

"I'm not _yours_ ," I remind him.

"Ah, of course," he says, and ruffles my hair. "How silly of me."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

I officially hate diplomacy. It involves long dinners and tedious conversation with people I don’t feel like dealing with. Piloting Red is simple. You shoot things, avoid hitting things that will kill you, and when Shiro says _Form Voltron!_ , you form Voltron. None of this pretending to be nice business.

Fake smiling makes me look deranged.

We're hosting delegates on the Castleship from a handful of newly-freed worlds. They sit across the long table of the dining hall from us looking more like hobos than respected officials. One of them is from the planet the Blade of Marmora just helped us free, Puig. They all keep shooting nervous looks at Kolivan. If they realized I was Galra, they'd be doing the same to me. I can't help sort of hating them for it.

The only thing that saves it for me is Yarok. He’s on a surveillance mission in a different sector. I haven't seen him in a week. But as we’re all getting settled in, Kolivan says, “Keith,” and opens his enormous purple hand. In it is a roll of the candy.

“From Yarok,” Kolivan says, as though I didn’t guess. “He sends his well wishes.”

“Tell him thanks,” I say, and pocket the sweets.

I make it through the dinner by telling myself the candy is a reward for not faking my own death. Also by eating my weight in hors d'oeuvres.

Allura walks the delegates out. Coran escorts Kolivan back to his ship. Everyone's gone but us paladins, which means it's finally over. I give myself a mental pat on the back and break open the roll of candy. I pop one in my mouth and revel in my new religion. Paradise is definitely worth the wait. 

Of course someone has to ruin my happiness. As usual. As soon as he sees me enjoying life, Lance pounces. 

“So, Keith. Who’s this Yorick guy who’s sending you presents?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. "Someone we should know about?”

With my mouth full of the sweet taste of no one verbally harassing me, it takes a minute to answer. “ _Yarok_. He’s a Blade member.”

“Blade member, huh? You mean your new _booooy_ friend? Eh, _eh_?” Lance waggles his eyebrows and makes irritating noises.

“Not my boyfriend,” I tell him. “Just a _friend_ friend. We train together.”

“Because friend-friends send roses and chocolates all the time. Sure. Yup. I totally buy it,” Lance says.

I'm reminded once again that I can still get angry. I push the feeling down in my chest. “No one’s sending roses. And this isn't chocolate, it's wasp larvae. Not all of us are obsessed with romance and kissy faces,” I tell him. "You wanna get all squishy about a boyfriend, get one yourself."

“Look, no need to get cranky, my man. I’m just saying,” he just-says. “Anybody who goes out of his way to give you special foods is definitely putting himself out there as a serious loverboy candidate.”

“ _Seriously_ , I am going to murder you,” I tell him.

“Cool it, guys,” Shiro says.

“Hey, I go out of my way to make _you_ special food all the time,” Hunk says to Lance. “Is that supposed to be something romantic? Because that’s not really how I meant it.”

Pidge frowns and adjusts her glasses. “So the candy this guy sent you is... ground up insects? Creepy Galra bug-flavored breath mints or something?”

“Okay, don’t breathe on me,” Lance says, holding a hand up in front of my face like I'd get my mouth anywhere near him.

“Right now," I announce, "this creepy Galra bug candy is the only thing that’s keeping me from murdering every single one of you.”

"Keith—" Shiro starts.

“Except you.” I tell him. “You can live.”

“That’s... generous of you,” Shiro says. “But _not_ talking about murdering your teammates right now would be helpful. We have to make plans for the upcoming presentation of the Voltron Coalition. We've got a tight schedule ahead of us, and it's going to take some serious teamwork to get everything in place. Raising the morale of our allies and convincing others to join our cause is top priority.”

"So... parades?" Lance asks, eyes bright.

"No. No _parades_!" I tell him.

" _Yes_ , parades," Shiro says. 

I’ve had more than enough of this. I'm so over it. I'm _out of here_. There’s an empty training deck with my name on it and eight more candies in this roll.

No one stops me.

Xxxxx

A couple hours later, I’m pleasantly exercised and sweaty. The training gladiators aren’t like Yarok, but they put up more fight than a room full of diplomats. And they're less annoying than Lance. I leave the defeated ones on the floor so I can track my progress. I tramp over their smoking corpses and feel triumphant. 

And my mouth tastes incredible.

I don’t notice immediately when Shiro joins in on the simulation. As I move, bayard sword drawn, I sense rather than see another presence beside me. A third robot crosses paths with the two I'm battling. And then Shiro is beside me, Galra hand blazing.

We fight for a while side by side. It doesn’t feel like fighting with Yarok. Shiro is raw power and thick muscle, surges of movement and jerks of retreat. His flow doesn't match my ebb. We work as a team, but not like one being. Shiro is a much better fighter than either of us, though. Maybe better than both of us combined. It's jarring. I don’t know what any of it means.

“Feel more like talking now?” Shiro asks me, kicking over the still-standing body of a gladiator he decapitated a few seconds ago. It hits the ground in a spray of sparks, vomiting electrical wiring at the neck.

“Not really,” I tell him. I look around for something to focus my attention on, but there's nothing. Just a field of demolished machinery. Wires and hydraulics and malfunctioning electric circuits in heaps. Useless rubbish. Shiro must've stopped the sim.

“You kind of blew up at everyone earlier,” he says. 

“They kind of deserved it,” I tell him. I toe at a robot torso with a hole where its heart should be. The hole is the size of Shiro's hand.

Shiro crosses his arms. “Do you really think so?”

I sigh and dematerialize my bayard. My hand is stiff, and I flex my now-empty fingers. “I don’t know what I think right now.”

He looks at me for a minute and then nods. “Anything I could do to help?”

I shake my head. _If only_.

“This friend of yours,” Shiro says, “this Yarok. You said you’ve been training with him.”

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend!” I snap.

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think he was."

I press a hand to my forehead. That's great, Keith. Way to keep a level head and snap at the only person on your side. “Sorry. I’ve just been... things have been weird. I don’t know.”

“Talking about boyfriends seems like it might put you on edge a little," he says. "Is that something you'd like to share with me?"

I shake my head. Bad subject. Not gonna share. “It’s just that he’s _not_. Yarok's a close combat specialist. He’s teaching me Galra fighting methods. He's not an asshole. That’s _it_.”

Because what else am I supposed to say? I’m not about to admit to more. I feel torn up on the inside just thinking about it. I wish I knew why.

“So the idea of having someone like that-- a boyfriend-- doesn’t bother you," Shiro says. 

“Boyfriends are fine,” I say, “for _other people_. I don’t know what anyone thinks _I’d_ do with one.”

“Okay,” he says, a very sincere expression on his face. “Do you think you don’t deserve a boyfriend?”

It stings. Shiro understands things, but he can be wrong, too. Maybe I do deserve someone like that. I'm not a bad person. I'm not the _greatest_ either, but even mediocre people deserve _some_ kind of happiness. 

Right?

But no one deserves to be stuck with someone like me. Someone who can’t give them what they need in return. Someone who's empty on the inside. I kick at the heartless gladiator at my feet and feel a biting sense of irony. 

“Keith, I understand you’re going through a lot. But we need you here. We need you _present_ ," Shiro says. "And I don’t mean just physically. I know you haven’t forgotten that if anything happens to me, you’re the one who’s going to have to take command of Voltron.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” I tell him.

“But if it _does_ ,” he says. “So I know it's hard, but all of this squabbling with Lance and arguing semantics over friends and boyfriends has got to stop."

“He started it!” I protest. "He _always_ starts it!"

Shiro asks, "Do you really think that makes a difference?"

I sigh and examine the floor between my feet like it knows something. _I_ sure don't. "I'm not a leader. I don't even like _people_. I hate the thought of Yarok being my boyfriend. I want to duct tape Lance's mouth shut. I could've tossed those diplomats out an airlock. I _can't_ lead Voltron."

“It has to be you, Keith. There’s no one else who can do it. Letting me down here is letting the entire _universe_ down. It's not an option,” he says.

It's also not a _possibility_. The only way Shiro would give up command of Voltron would be if he's _dead_. You can't let dead people down. They don't feel anything. 

I just feel all the _wrong_ things. 

“Why can't Allura do it? She’s a natural leader," I tell him. "And since you're so _pro-Lance_ , why not him? You know he'd _kill_ to lead Voltron."

He shakes his head. “We need Allura to pilot the Castleship. And Lance isn’t ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“And _I_ am?"

"I know you look down on your own qualities. You think you don't have what it takes," he tells me. "But if you keep thinking that, you’re only creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. _Confidence_ , Keith. Believe in yourself. See in yourself what I see in you, and other people will start to see it, too. Even Lance."

_You need to get your vision checked_ , I want to tell him. But I don’t. “Have you considered that _you’re_ creating a self-fulfilling prophecy by talking about getting yourself offed?”

He gives me a fond look. "I don’t think disaster planning works that way.”

"I don't know how anything works anymore," I tell him before I can stop myself.

"Hey. Come here," he says, and reaches out to touch my shoulder.

I take a step forward and let him wrap his arms around me. My arms hang limp at my sides. I tip my cheek against his chest. I don't know how it makes me feel. I'm kind of numb.

"Things will get better," he tells me. One of his hands is up at my neck, and his thumb brushes my bare skin. It touches one of the bite marks Yarok left under my hair. They didn't heal so well.

"I don't see how that's ever going to happen," I tell him.

His thumb moves gently over my broken skin. "The only constant in life is that everything changes. _This too shall pass_."

"Yeah, and get _worse_." I bring my arms up and wrap them loosely around his waist. 

"Keith," he says. His fingers push the hair back off my forehead. His Galra hand is gentle. "I want to thank you again. For being there for me. I sometimes... there are times when I'm not okay. Times when I need help. I know I don't say this enough, but I really appreciate what you do for me."

I shrug against him. "We all need help sometimes. It's no big deal."

"Keith, bathing someone like an infant and putting them to bed is _not_ nothing." His cybernetic fingers stroke through my hair.

"I bathe myself all the time. That's normal." I want to make a joke about changing his sheets, but I'm not feeling very funny right now. And if it's not funny, he might let go of me. 

I've never wanted him to let go of me. 

"If I had to pick one person to fight alongside, one person who always has my back, who I can count on to pick me up when I'm down and support me through thick and thin," Shiro says, "it would be _you_."

I turn my face against his shoulder. My heart might burst. "Thanks," I murmur into his vest. I order myself not to cry. You don't support people by crying all over their clothes.

"I know I'm just saying it now, but I've felt it for a long time. Since way back at the Garrison," he tells me.

"Here and I thought you were only interested in me because I beat your high score on the flight combat simulator," I say, and hug him tighter. My fingers press into the thick muscle of his back. It feels so good.

"You didn't just beat my record, you _shattered_ it. For a fifteen year old who'd never run a sim before, it was almost beyond belief. Tech insisted someone hacked the machine," he says. "People were calling it superhuman."

I smile. "Little did _they_ know."

"Keith, you are special," he says. His head tips down, and he nuzzles against my hair. "You are _wanted_. When that voice in the back of your head tells you you're not good enough, remember that, okay?"

My eyes prickle. I turn my nose against his shirt. He smells so nice. Kind of sweaty from mangling all the training gladiators, but I like it. I swallow to steady my voice. "I guess if the Black Paladin of Voltron says it, it must be true."

"I guess so," he agrees.

"You... you're special, too, Shiro. The _most_ special," I tell him. It's hard because I never talk like this. It makes me feel dumb. "I know everyone tells you that all the time and it's not any kind of mystery or anything, but... just in case you wanted to hear it again."

Shiro's breath puffs a snort of a laugh against the top of my head. "No one tells me that, Keith."

I can't help smiling. "That's another reason why I hate people."

Shiro chuckles and gives me a squeeze. "Hey, Keith. Could I ask you something?"

I close my eyes. The warmth of his arms around me makes me feel like I could do anything. "Sure."

"Can Yarok dance?" he asks.

That... was not the question I was expecting. Though of course he brought it up. It was his fake requirement for me finding a Galra friend. Mine was clean sheets. "Is now really the time to address your crushing fear of ballet?"

He taps playfully at the back of my head. "I'm being serious."

"You're not," I tell him.

"Okay," Shiro says. "You caught me." With one last ruffle of my hair, he steps back, breaking the hug. The fingers of his human hand linger against my shoulder. I look at them until they, too, drop to his side.

"Yarok's helping me out a lot," I tell Shiro. The feel of his touch against my shoulder lingers even through my armor. It's like my body can't let it go. "He's teaching me things I never imagined I could do. He's just not my boyfriend, and he never will be."

Shiro smiles. "Then I approve of your new friend."

"Thanks," I tell him.

I don’t mention the state of Yarok's sheets, and I swear I never, _ever_ will.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7 

I am too short for the Blade of Marmora's flight simulators. When I jam the seat all the way forward, I still can't use the hand controls without stretching. One of their engineers had to put an extender arm underneath it. I shove a spare seat cushion behind my back so I can reach the forward display monitor.

When Yarok sees it, he laughs. "Is this your first flight, child?"

"I've been doing this for the past month," I tell him, not in the mood to play along. "Where've you been?"

The simulator is an egg-shaped pod with its front end cut off where a real ship would have its power source. The entry hatch closes to simulate artificial gravity, or the nausea-inducing twists and turns when you lose it. Yarok sticks his head inside the open door and frowns at the monitor. "Who is _Keese_?" he asks.

The display is currently showing a list of all-time high scores, with mine flashing in purple. I'm seventh. "Guess there was a problem when it got translated. It happens in some Earth languages, too."

"Earth has more than one language?" he says, looking interested. "Do you speak them all?"

"We have hundreds of languages, but I only speak English," I tell him. "It's the most useful."

"You should learn Galra. Then you would be able to see some of my family members' names up there," he gestures toward the screen, "above yours."

I stare. "You have family here?"

"Did you think I was born into a vacuum, like a protostar from a nebula?" he asks. The look on my face makes him laugh. 

"I didn't think about it. I don't have any family. Or at least none who claim me," I tell him. It sends a wash of emptiness through me. "They're probably out there somewhere."

"If they would abandon their own, they cannot be family worth having," he says. His voice has such conviction, it's almost like it's true. He points a clawed finger toward the highest score. "This one was my father."

I look at it, but the symbols mean nothing. " _Was_?" I ask.

" _Was_ ," he repeats. "He died on a mission. I inherited my Marmora blade from him. And my sense of humor, among other things."

"Not your piloting skills, though," I say.

He gives me a rueful look and shakes his head. "Those were unfortunately not passed down. Nor were his gills."

"I didn't know Galra had gills," I tell him.

He laughs. "They don't."

So Yarok's not full Galra, either. I guess I should've known. That must be why we took to each other so quickly. I look at him in the glow of the simulator's display and try to see something foreign in him, something un-Galra, but I can't.

He looks back at me, and his lips quirk.

I look away. "I'd be ranked higher if I could read the warning messages," I tell him, tipping my head toward the rankings list. I shouldn't be staring at him. It reminds me of when Hunk was looking to see if my skin was purple. "Last time, my meters got fried, and I thought my life support had been depleted, but it was my weaponry. I diverted power to the wrong place and had a hell of a time getting it switched back again when I couldn't defend myself."

He doesn't seem upset. Maybe he's used to it. He asks, "Have you studied the key? It shows all the symbols. Those should be understandable, at least."

I blink. "There's a _key_?"

He grins his cat-grin and points toward the monitor. "Just press the calipantor and scroll through to where the krox branches. It's right there. Third from the top, I believe."

I look at the general direction he's pointing toward. "The what, now? That's all Greek to me."

He gives me a strange look. "What is _Greek_?" 

"You know those Earth languages I was talking about? It's a really hard one that people spoke thousands of years ago that nobody understands anymore except scholars," I explain.

He presses the release on my seat so he can push it back and lean into the simulator in front of me. "This is not Greek," he tells me. "Once you learn the Galra language, you will find all of it quite simple." Reaching over to the far side of the cockpit, he presses a square that looks like it has a mutant carrot in it, and a long list of options pops up. He scrolls through and selects one that looks like someone's doing a questionable job of giving directions to a rural gas station. 

"Wow. So simple," I tell him. I have to crane my neck to see around him.

"Where is Murtov?" he asks. When he turns to look at me, the flashing lights from the monitor behind him make him look like a bouncer in a trendy nightclub. Someplace I wouldn't get into even if I wanted to. "Isn't he supposed to be working with you?"

"Kolivan called him for something. He told me not to turn the safety off again and left," I tell him. "Are you going to move so I can look at this?"

He grins and climbs onto the floor in front of me, pulling the door shut behind him. The pod seals with a hiss and starts up the simulated life support. 

The space is tight for one and barely able to fit Yarok on his knees between me and the display. His back is bowed over me, and his head rests against the ceiling. The sudden closeness of the closed pod makes me hyperaware of his breathing. 

He runs a hand up my thigh. "I had something else in mind."

I'm immediately hard. I hadn't even been thinking of sex, but now that my body's been given the prompt... It's like a switch Yarok knows exactly how to flip.

I spread my thighs so he can slide in closer between them. "What's that? Tutoring me in Galra linguistics?" I ask. 

"Only if you teach me Greek," he says. His hands slide up my inner thighs until he can cup me through my suit. 

"The only Greek word I know is _eureka_ ," I tell him.

"And what does that mean?" He rubs at the soft skin there through the fabric.

" _I've found it_ ," I tell him. A shiver runs through me, and I tilt my hips up.

Yarok's golden eyes flash. "And what did you find, young paladin?"

"Dunno," I tell him, "but I think I like it."

He laughs and tugs at the waist of my suit to pull it open. He struggles with the fastener and scowls. I pull my gloves off with my teeth and reach for his waist. He shifts his hips up toward my touch. "It's been a while," he says as my fingers brush the underside of his cock. I bend forward for better reach. "I've missed you."

"I missed a certain part of you," I tell him as I stroke it to full attention. He finally gets into my suit and gets a hand around me. It looks surreal. The length of his fingers dwarfs me. The lights of the simulator's display wash my skin white against the deep purple of his hand. 

He rubs a clawed finger against my tip, and I gasp. "Do you have plans for it now that the two of you have been reunited?" he asks. His voice catches as I mirror the motions on his cock. The wet tip shines under my fingers.

"I've got something hot and empty you can put it in for a while," I tell him, stomach clenching at my own words. "If you're into that sort of thing."

I catch him mid-laugh with a squeeze. I pull his breath into a gasp. "I brought," he swallows, "the extra-slick just in case." He reaches into his side pocket and comes out with a packet containing the slippery green condom I dropped before. 

"You're pretty sure of yourself," I tell him, and press up into his palm. "Tighter with your fist. I won't break."

He does, and I tip my head back against the seat. My back arches of its own accord. " _That's_ what I'm talking about."

"Keith," Yarok says, getting his rhythm steady. "Come down into my lap."

I have to let go of him to pull my suit open all the way around to the back. When I lift my hips up, he snakes a hand under me to finger my ass. His claw has the wrong angle and is a little sharp, but he slides inside easily enough. I take hold of his wrist and urge him in further. It feels so good.

"You are always so ready for me," he marvels. 

"You do good work," I tell him. "But not on the floor. I'm gonna break my back against this chair once we get going. Switch places with me."

"Mmm," he agrees, and pulls his finger out. 

I gasp at the shock of the loss and involuntarily reach for it. "Patience, paladin," he urges. "You will feel much more soon enough."

He lifts me as he shifts us both. His fingers dig into my ass cheeks. I twine my fingers into his hair and pull myself up to his mouth. "I'm counting on it," I murmur against his lips. 

His kiss is sharp, eager teeth pricking my tongue as I slide it to meet his. I yank at his Mohawk as he twists to sit. His mouth tastes like he's eaten something sweet.

Getting us both into the chair isn't as simple as I'd hoped. I get my legs around his, but my knees hit the seatback, and I can't get close enough to lower myself onto him. I make a noise of frustration. He's poised like a monument to sex, his cock jutting up thick and purple between his muscled thighs. "Put me _on_ it," I order.

He grins and sweeps an arm under my knees, jerking my legs up tight to my chest. "Such flexibility," he murmurs, and presses the backs of my thighs to his waist.

I reach down for his cock and drag my fist up its length. I press down against it, and his breath catches. "Wanna feel you in me," I gasp.

His strong arms shift me so his slick tip presses against my hole. I squirm and scratch against his hips to pull myself down. With one smooth action, he lowers me onto his length. 

It's so sudden, and I'm so full with him that I keen with pleasure. "Yarok," I gasp, and arch my back. My ass nestles against his groin. "More, _more_." He is _so_ deep.

"More what, paladin?" he teases. He rocks his hips up into me, and I grab his arms to keep from tumbling backwards. "More of my cock fully sheathed within your warmth?"

I moan from somewhere deep inside me and try to work myself up on him so I can feel that sweet slide again, but I can't do it the way I need to. This cockpit is too damn small.

Yarok takes mercy on me and picks me up by the waist. There's so much strength in his arms. Like I weight nothing, he raises and lowers my whole body, sliding me up and down on his length. He pops his hips when he bottoms out, slapping against me with a satisfying smack. It makes me gasp every time.

"Is this good?" he asks, breath catching. His voice bounces every time his hips slap my ass. "Or do you want it harder?"

Looking up at him is strange. His lips are parted, with the deeper purple of his tongue just behind them. His nose crinkles at a particularly good thrust, and the tips of his pointed teeth flash. His eyes are half lidded, like he's losing himself in the feel of me.

I don't like it. 

Something is off. I don't like him looking that way. It doesn't make sense. 

I shut my eyes.

In that moment, the sheer ridiculousness of it strikes me. The degradation of it. I'm bent like a pretzel in a Blade of Marmora flight training simulator being fucked on a nearly eight foot tall Galra's cock. Our frenzied panting fills the small chamber, and the sound of our flesh meeting makes obscene slapping sounds that break the mechanical tranquility. This enormous purple alien is asking me something, murmuring my name deep and sweet like it means something to him. Like this act has some kind of cosmic significance.

I shake my head to rid myself of the thought and open my eyes. "Turn me around," I order. I slap at the substantial chest my legs are pressed against. "I want it from behind."

"Perfect," he breathes, and twists me without even pulling out.

It's better this way. I don't have to look at him. I stare at the display, lines and bars and Galra readouts on sim systems. This makes sense. I'm a pilot. This is my world.

Strong hands lift me up high and then slam me back down, knocking the breath out of me as they draw me back down onto the thick cock I'm riding. The angle is good. Something beautiful and aching inside me rubs against the thick shaft, and I call out in pleasure.

"Like _this_ , paladin?" A deep voice asks.

I let my head drop back and move my body along with his motions. My hands slide back against strong arms. I'm feeling good again. _So_ good. 

Yarok lifts me up so _high_ before he pulls me down. Every stroke sends a surge of pure pleasure straight through my core. My cock jerks, leaking with readiness. "Wanna come," I moan. "Yarok, make me come."

"Of course, brave one," he murmurs. A half a beat later, he falters and says something angry and Galra that sounds like a swear word. 

"What?" I say, spitted and helpless.

"I forgot the damnable _condom_ ," he groans. "Hold on..."

I cry out as his length leaves me, and the fullness I need so much disappears. It leaves me aching and reaching back for him. "Put it back in, put it _in_ ," I groan. He sets me on his knee, and I grab for his cock. A weird snap comes from his lap, and the slippery coolness of the condom hits my fingers as he rolls it down into place.

"You would make me forget my own name," Yarok tells me. He picks me up again and pushes inside me.

The glide is so smooth, it takes a couple of thrusts to process. There's no resistance at all. The press is feather light, a warm caress, like swimming. I reach back to feel and can't even get purchase on him. My palm slides straight down into the wiry hair at the base of his shaft.

"Fast is best with this one," he says. "Length is less important. Would you allow me to bend you over? Perhaps I could stroke you to completion at the same time?"

I lean forward so I can rest my palms against the monitor in front of me. The shifting pattern of indecipherable letters is a strange distraction from the fleshy glide inside me. Yarok leans over me, his body solid against my back. Heat radiates off him. With his hands around my waist, he lifts me into the air. Gasping, I hook my toes onto the pilot seat to hold myself up.

Yarok makes an appreciative noise. His cock shifts to a better angle. A really _good_ angle. "This will work as well. Be sure to tell me if the pressure becomes too much."

"You keep talking about being too much for me, but I still haven't seen it," I taunt. I press against the display screen with my palms so I can push back against him. My ass hits his hips with a smooth glide and a satisfying wet smack.

I pull back again, but instead of encouraging me, he grabs my hips and holds me still. He moves inside me with small jerks that make his slippery length feel never-ending. I stiffen with the constant stimulation, my legs braced like pillars. My body trembles at the building intensity of the deceptively gentle _smack smack smack_ of his body against mine. My head drops forward, and I squeeze my eyes shut. 

No human could keep up a pace like this. No fumbling of a fellow cadet in the showers five minutes to curfew could get me riding this high. A stolen fifth of Smirnoff and a senior I snuck in the window of my soon-to-be-former foster home didn't make my head reel like this. It's so fast and so steady and so perfectly angled against that bud of pleasure inside me.

I'm feeling readier and readier, closer and closer to the edge, and when Yarok slows for a second to get a better grip on me, a wet gush washes out and down the backs of my thighs. 

"It seems that green is," his breath hitches as he picks the pace back up, "your _color_ today, paladin. Looks so-- _mmph!_ \-- _pretty_ when I feed it into you..."

"Thought you were gonna stroke me," I manage. His words make my body burn.

He laughs and grabs tighter at my hips. It shifts me closer to the display monitor. "Not at _this_ angle."

My grip on the monitor slides with my sweating palms, and I have to readjust. "Get _serious_ , then," I order. "I wanna come."

"Such a demanding--" his voice bounces as he thrusts into me.

If he finishes the sentence, I don't hear it. The incessant slide in and out of my ass has my mind distracted. The rest of me thrums with interest. My lungs strain for air. My cock jerks, and a bead of precum dribbles down it. Our movement is infinite, the pleasure intense, and I'm moaning as the pressure inside me builds.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop," I chant, until my tongue loses the words.

"Keith, Keith, _Keith_ ," Yarok gasps, thumping against me so fast and hard, my hands bounce against the monitor.

"Do it!" I gasp. "Now, now, now--"

"Coming, coming," he moans, "Keith-- coming _hard_ \--!" and shoves into me with such force, my forehead smacks against the monitor. I prop myself with one trembling hand and grab my cock.

"Oh, god," I moan, "oh god oh _god_ \--!"

The orgasm strikes me like a direct hit, a flash of bright light and spinning out of control into the blackness of space. I burn from the inside out, pulled in on myself like nuclear warfare. The void opens and swallows me whole.

When I come back to myself, the world is glowing purple. My cheek is planted against the simulator's display monitor, and my ears buzz. A screenful of warning symbols flickers in front of me. I push myself away with one sweaty hand against an engine failure. 

Sex in a flight simulator doesn't make for the most comfortable aftermath. Yarok is wedged in on top of me. He smacks his head against something, probably the ceiling, and makes an unhappy noise. 

My feet are still hooked onto the seat. It takes more effort than it should to pull them down. My thigh muscles scream. I grunt as my knees hit the floor. Yarok slides out of me with a wet pop. 

"I can't feel my fingers," he says. "And I may be mildly concussed."

My hips hurt, and when I look down, his hands are still latched onto them. He peels them off and flexes his fingers. Long, clawed digits spread and contract. 

I'm going to have bruises.

I don't know if I like that or not.

Yarok helps me down onto the floor, where I fail to get my suit closed back up again. My hands are too shaky. My arms feel like Jell-O.

I came all over the buttons at the bottom of the display monitor. Yarok takes care of himself and then wipes most of it off with his wrist.

"Messy little Keith," Yarok says to me, with affection. He grins and nuzzles his jaw in under my ear to suck at my throat.

"Ugh, don't," I tell him. I push his face away. "Too late for that now."

He chuckles. "Next time, then?"

"Whatever," I tell him. My hands are finally steady enough to work on my suit, and I wish I wasn't so sticky. I make a face at the feel of it. There's so _much_. It's coating the insides of my thighs like a thick mucus. The simulator's reflected light turns it purple.

"Would you like me to lick it off?" Yarok asks.

"This _can't_ be all me," I tell him. "That condom didn't break, did it?"

He snorts. "Of course not. The green always does that. Not every Galra is as ready as you."

"Gross. Throw it away," I order.

He scrapes some of the mess off with his index finger and wipes it on his suit. "It dries imperceptibly. In half an hour, you won't even know it was there."

I slap his hand away when he reaches in again, and close up my suit. The material wicks sweat on the inner layer while keeping the outside dry, so no one will be able to tell what I've been up to. "Good. I have things to do back on the Castleship." 

"Sounds important," he says.

"More important than this," I tell him. I climb up off the floor and open the hatch. Hopefully the fake atmospheric control will take care of the smell quickly. It's pretty bad.

Yarok grabs my arm. "Until next time?"

I shrug and tug my arm free. "If I feel like it."

He grins. "Lucky me."


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

The wing of Prince Lotor’s cruiser crackles with energy where Voltron's sword sliced through it. It’s barely clinging to the rest of the ship, which lists in its orbit over Puig. Lotor’s ultra-nimble fighter disappears into its central bay.

With one last shot of its ion cannon, easily deflected by our shield, the ship turns tail and boosts into hyper drive. Bits of metal stream behind it like ice from a disintegrating comet.

“All _right_ , we’ve got them on the run!” shouts Lance. “Let’s go after them and take Lotor out for good!”

“Guys, better idea: let’s get out of here,” Hunk counters. “Lotor already lured us into one trap. This could all be part of his plan.”

“We have to follow him,” I say. Red's battle hunger tickles the back of my brain. “Prince Lotor is the heir to the Galra throne. We can end his reign right now.”

“I agree,” Shiro says. “It may be a trap, but it’s a chance we have to take. Without Zarkon at the helm, the Empire's defenses have failed. Taking out Prince Lotor would leave them completely directionless." 

“Like a chicken with its head cut off!” crows Lance.

I twist my bayard and pull it out of the control console, deactivating the sword. Pidge does the same with our shield. Shiro turns Voltron in the direction Prince Lotor headed, and with the help of Hunk and Lance's boosters, we shoot off after him.

“Pidge, can you anticipate Lotor's course?” Shiro asks.

“Already on it,” she says. “It looks like he’s heading toward a nearby system. I’m detecting another Galra ship closing in on the same location. Extrapolating their trajectory, it's... a planet called Thayserix.”

“One more Galra ship isn’t enough to stop us,” I say. “We can’t turn back now with so much at stake.”

“Agreed,” says Shiro. “But be ready. Lotor may have underestimated us, but something tells me he’s not going to make the same mistake twice. What can you tell us about Thayserix, Pidge?"

"It's an enormous gas planet," she reports. "We're still too far away for detailed readings, but preliminary scans are detecting multiple electromagnetic storms... and unusually strong magnetic poles. Visibility on its surface will be almost zero, and communication could be affected. I don't advise breaking the atmosphere until I can get better readings."

I adjust my grip on my controls. "Sounds like the perfect place for Lotor to lick his wounds."

"But _not_ fix his ship," Pidge says. "I'm detecting massive pockets of what appears to be red syntian nitrate. If the readings are correct, it would make the planet's surface highly volatile. Any amplified emission of light, _including_ those from equipment to make repairs, will combust and cause a dangerous explosion."

"No amplified light? But that means we couldn't use a lot of _our_ weapons, either," Lance points out.

"Oh, that sounds bad," Hunk says. "No shoulder cannon, no lasers, no blazing sword... and Lotor's fighter is way faster than Voltron."

Voltron shifts out of hyper drive to find Prince Lotor’s ship orbiting the stormy orb of Thayserix, surrounded by dozens of smaller Galra fighters. More are pouring from the intact ship that met up with it, which moves to a defensive position in front of Lotor’s. Taken by surprise by our arrival, one fighter swerves to miss colliding with us. Lance kicks it into a ball of fiery nothingness.

Taking out two Galra cruisers, one of them damaged, should be an easy task. We’re more of a cohesive team than ever, and Voltron is in perfect form. But the fighters protecting their Prince are desperate. They swarm us, pelting our sides with laser fire and sometimes even hurling themselves at us kamikaze-style.

“Did someone show these Galra _The Birds_?” Lance asks. “Because they’re going all Alfred Hitchcock on us!”

“I’ve never seen this many at one time before,” Pidge says. She raises the shield to protect Voltron’s head, but more and more bombard Shiro with laser fire. “They just keep coming!”

“Ignore them!” I shout. “We _have_ to get to Lotor before he gets his ship repaired!”

But we’re trapped. I sync with Red, maneuvering so our sword slices through a few of the fighters, and Pidge mashes some more with the shield, but it’s no use. No amount of fighting skill can ward off an attack this bent on slowing us down.

“At this rate, _we’re_ going to be the ones captured instead of the other way around,” Hunk says. "Would we be better off giving them five targets instead of one?"

“It's worth a try. Everyone, separate,” Shiro orders. “But stay close. We need to have each other's backs. Don't let them isolate any one lion.”

As soon as we break into our individual lions, I take advantage of Red's speed to streak toward Prince Lotor’s ship. It looks like he's not going to chance the planet's atmosphere after all. The drones are already making repairs to his damaged wing. A stream of fighters tails me.

“But why are there so _many_?” Pidge pleads. Even with five targets instead of one, they have no problem clogging up our movements.

The paladins in slower lions have the worst time of it. Shiro manages to keep his pursuers at bay through skill and sheer size, but Lance and Hunk aren’t so lucky. When Prince Lotor’s special fighter appears again to dive bomb me, I dodge the attack, circling back to the second cruiser. I rake my claws down its hull in frustration. But when Lance tries the same, he can’t get out of the fighters' way quickly enough. He’s bowled over by a flock of angry bird-ships.

“Hunk, look out!” he shouts as Blue careens toward the Yellow Lion. They collide, crushing a Galra fighter between them.

The blow sends Hunk plummeting into the massive warship headfirst. With a geyser of purple debris, Yellow does a graceless face plant.

“Oh, this is bad!” Hunk says. His lion’s claws dig into the ship, sending sparks into the surrounding space. “I’m stuck! My lion’s head is caught on—"

“On my way,” I tell him, evading a fighter and firing with Red’s tail. Three more take its place.

“I got your six, Keith!” Lance calls. He’s made a recovery and blasts them from behind me.

“Where’s Prince Lotor’s fighter? It disappeared!” In the confusion, I lost track. I scan for it, but there’s nothing on my radar. A Galra fighter smashes into me, knocking my lion even further from Hunk.

“Prince Lotor’s ship is escaping!” Pidge shouts. His cruiser is heading away from us, fighters covering his retreat. Lotor's fighter must be back inside. Pidge breaks off from the melee to pursue, only to have Shiro call her back.

“It’s too risky,” he warns. “We can’t let them separate us. If they manage to capture you—”

“Hey, guys? Guys, something weird is going on here!” Hunk interrupts.

“Can you be more specific?” Pidge asks. “There are so many kinds of weird to choose from!”

“No idea, but I’m getting it in my lion,” he says. “I think it’s alive!”

“Do not put weird stuff in your lion, Hunk!” Lance yells. “You have no idea where it’s been!”

“Galra reinforcements incoming!” announces Pidge. “It’s another ship!”

“We can _take_ them!” I shout.

“Regroup,” Shiro says. “Everyone on me!”

“Not to rain on anyone’s parade—and by _anyone_ , I mean _Keith_ —but I think we should get out of here,” Hunk says. Yellow roars with a deafening boom and pulls its head out of the cruiser. “This thing is definitely alive, and I don’t think you’re going to like it!” He swings around and jets toward us.

“Alright, back to the Castle,” Shiro announces.

“No!” I shout. “Prince Lotor is _right here_. We’re letting him slip through our fingers!”

“It’s too risky,” Shiro says. “We did our best, but this fight is over.”

Red sends vibes of irritation through our link. I want to break things. Preferably a Galra prince’s head, but I’m not picky. I swerve away from the group to take out a straggling fighter. I grab it in Red’s mouth and shake it like I’m breaking a wild animal’s neck.

“That was super mature, Keith,” Lance tells me.

I throw the tooth-marked remains of the charred ship at him.

“Hey!” He yells as it hits Blue’s shoulder.

As we hit hyper drive, Shiro says, “Cool it, Keith. Or I’m going to have to put you in timeout.”

I feel a little ashamed. “Sorry,” I tell him.

But less ashamed than if I’d missed Lance with the fighter.

Xxxxx

Back at the Castleship, we make our way to Hunk’s lion. He hasn’t come out, and his comm chatter is strangely unhelpful.

“So that was Emperor Zarkon's son, huh? Not a fan,” says Lance as we mount the lion-jaw stairs. The sound of our boots against the metal rungs resonates in the hollow silence of Yellow's landing bay.

“I don’t think he’s too fond of _us_ right now, either,” Shiro tells him. "That was good work you all did out there."

“What did he think he was going to accomplish attacking us like that?” Pidge asks.

“It was a test. He was feeling us out,” I say. It's what _I'd_ do, anyway. “Seeing if reality matches the legend.” 

“And the righteous might of Voltron sent him scurrying back where he belongs!” Lance says. He does a karate kick in the air and makes a noise he probably thinks is threatening.

“Don’t get cocky over it,” I warn him. I kind of want him to trip, though I know it’s petty. “I don’t think that’s the last we’ll see of him.” I still wish we’d pursued. I know it’s wrong. That’s just the Galra part of me beating its proverbial head against the wall.

Hunk’s lion is muted inside, both in light and sound. He’s next to the controls with his helmet off. He leans over what looks like a hospital bed.

“No movement yet, but he’s breathing,” Hunk says. He says something else, but his voice blurs in my ears. It goes as dim as the lights. Because there’s a person strapped to the bed.

The long hair is matted, and the body is concealed beneath threadbare Galra prisoner garb. The scruffy beard hasn't been shaved in weeks. But the curve of the lashes against space-pale cheeks is unmistakable. So are the masculine angles of the jaw. Even the scar is exactly the same.

It’s Shiro.

Xxxxx

The other Shiro rests in the cryo pod, long hair falling in front of its face, oblivious to where it is and what's happening to it. Its hair has the same streak of white as the real Shiro. Its muscles are the exact same size. It has the same thin creases of worry across its forehead. This second Shiro is more than an identical twin. More than a doppelganger. It's like it's the same _person_. 

Someone put it in a white medical suit, but it sure wasn’t me. I can't stand this thing.

“That’s so freaky. It’s like it’s _Shiro_ , but it’s not,” says Hunk. “I mean, Shiro’s standing right here. But he’s also in _there_. I don’t know about you guys, but this is making my brain tired. And hungry. Is anyone else hungry?”

I look at Shiro, who's standing beside me, but his expression reveals nothing.

Coran raises his hand. "I wouldn't mind a milkshake."

"I bet this is why there were so many fighters on that Galra cruiser. They weren't planning to defend _Lotor_ ," Pidge says. "They were there to protect _him_."

"But what _is_ he?" Lance asks.

Pidge squints at the cryo pod. “In my professional opinion... I'd say he’s the Hippie Flower Child version of Shiro. All he needs is a couple of peace signs, bell bottoms, and some hallucinogenic mushrooms."

“Hallucinogenic mushrooms?” says Allura, looking concerned. "What are those for?"

"Errr," says Pidge.

“No way,” Lance says. “This is definitely Wild West Sheriff Shiro. He needs a cowboy hat and spurs so he can ride off into the sunset on his trusty steed. With his Sharpshooter Deputy at his side, of course.”

“What exactly is a _steed_?” Allura asks.

“Okay, guys, let’s focus,” Shiro says. “We came across this man, who appears to be an exact copy of me, aboard a Galra cruiser. We need a plan of action, not career choices. And anyway, this guy is clearly Death Metal Rocker Shiro. He’s about to break out his guitar and shred some mad riffs.”

“Nope, no way,” Hunk says. “Totally wrong.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Lance says.

“That's completely off track,” Pidge tells him.

“What is a _mad riff_?” Allura laments.

Lance plays her an air guitar, complete with sound effects. When he sees the look on Pidge's face, he stops and shrugs. “No? I thought it was pretty good.”

“I say we get rid of it,” I announce. “I have zero trust in this fake-Shiro thing.”

“That’s cold even for you, Keith,” Lance says. “What do you want us to do, give it back to the Galra?”

“All I’m saying is, it could be dangerous. We don’t know what it knows. We don’t know what it _is_ ,” I tell him. “For all we know, it could be part of a Galra plot to infiltrate our ranks and replace _our_ Shiro with this one.”

"At this point, I think that plan's failed," Shiro says. "Considering I'm still here." He's smiling and looking into the pod with mild interest, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. 

“What if he’s from a different reality?" Pidge asks. "Slav is always talking about alternate realities, so it stands to reason there are multiple copies of each one of us. _Infinite_ , even. He could be some other reality's Shiro!" 

“Yeah, and this guy's a living being no matter how you slice it,” Hunk adds. “And it’s not like there’s any threat unless he wakes up."

"He may not," Coran says. He frowns at the cryo pod's monitor. "It's too soon to come to any conclusions, but scans are showing minimal higher brain activity."

"Am I the only one who realizes how dangerous it could be to let a stranger into our midst?" I demand. "One off a _Galra_ ship?"

"I'm not saying I'm thrilled, Keith. But it's the compassionate thing to do," Shiro says. He looks at me as he says it, and his eyes are very deep. All trace of his earlier joking is gone. "And who knows, maybe he has information that could help us in our fight against the Galra Empire."

I shake my head. "Or maybe he's the very weapon they tried turning you into."

I can't read the look he gives me in reply. I don't like it.

“Hunk found this guy in a Galra laboratory in prisoner clothing strapped down to a table. I don’t think he’s on their side. What makes me nervous is the _arm_ ,” Pidge says. “We've determined there's no tracking device in it, but it could contain something to infiltrate the Castle’s computer systems. Once he regains consciousness, it could even be used to mind-control him.”

“Can't we just cut the arm off?” Lance asks.

“I’m with Lance,” I say, surprising us both. “Removing the Galra tech would cut off anyone's ability to communicate with it. That's the only way we can be safe around that thing."

“I'm afraid it’s not that simple,” Shiro says. “Assuming the technology is something like mine, the circuitry is interconnected with the nervous system. If we disconnected it without knowing exactly what we’re doing, it would cause him extreme pain. We could even _kill_ him.”

I don't see the problem with this.

“We have a duty to protect this man until we can determine his situation,” Allura announces, the way she always does. Like she owns the moral high ground. “I cannot believe that any version of Shiro, no matter what reality he comes from, could purposely do us harm."

This coming from the person who refused to even _look_ at me when she found out I was Galra.

"Good," Shiro says. He nods. "We'll go with that. Now let's get some food and review today's battle."

"That," says Hunk, "is the most reasonable thing I've heard all day."

Over our meal, Shiro laughs and jokes with the others about our new "guest." He goes over details from our fight with Lotor without missing a beat. He eats all of his food. He tells Hunk it's delicious. But there's no light in his eyes.

I've seen him like this before. I can't help thinking he's plummeting head-first into a meltdown. The others don't recognize it. Maybe Shiro can't even see it himself. He's so good at pretending to be okay that I sometimes think he even convinces himself. But he can't convince me.

Later, I manage to catch him alone. He's on his way to the Control Deck, and I kind of corner him in a hallway. I tell him again what a bad idea keeping this thing on the ship is. "I'm not saying to kill it. Just... put it somewhere else," I urge. 

"Keith, we've been over this," he says. "This man has done nothing to warrant our distrust. I'm confident in Pidge's assessment that he's not going to harm anyone in his current state." 

"He was onboard a _Galra ship_!" I insist, frustrated.

"So was I," he reminds me. 

"That's different. You're _you_. He just _looks_ like you. Why?" I demand. "It doesn't make sense."

"We've _been over this_ ," he repeats. He says it gently, but I know he's getting irritated. I'm wearing his patience thin by dragging it across his emotions like this. "We'll determine later on if he's a danger and act accordingly."

"All I know is, if we found someone who looked exactly like me, right down to my scars and my _amputated arm_ ," I pause for effect, "I wouldn't be happy having him around."

"I appreciate your concerns, and I'm grateful you've brought them to me. I always value your opinion," Shiro says. It's a standard blow-off answer with no feeling behind it. It doesn't even mean anything. "But everyone else agrees. Your personal beliefs don't override all of theirs." 

"Since when is what's _right_ decided by a majority vote? Shiro, this is insane!" I exclaim. "You _can't_ agree with them! You're acting like it's fine, but I _know_ you don't want that thing here! I know how it's making you feel!"

"Keith, the discussion has ended. The decision is made," he says, jaw going stiff. I'm right, and he knows it. "Team Voltron has had its final say."

"Yeah? And who's going to pick you up and put you back together again after this thing tears you apart inside?" I demand. " _Them_? Or _me_?"

I don't mean it to sound as harsh as it does. But I have this vision of him lying on the floor covered in sweat, sheets tangled around his legs, writhing in mental agony. It's not something I want to see again. Shiro deserves better.

Shiro deserves everything.

"I know you have a lot on your plate, Keith," he says. His face is like stone, and it's making me feel sick. "I would never burden you by asking you to do something like that."

"Of course you wouldn't _ask_ ," I tell him, desperation fluttering in my chest. "It would be easier if you _did_ because I'm going to do it anyway. I'm helping you whether you want me to or not."

"I'm glad you're concerned for my wellbeing, but it's unnecessary," he counters.

I shake my head. I want to reach out to him, wrap my arms around him, but I don't dare. "You're not invincible, Shiro. The others don't know that as well as I do. You're always thinking of other people before you think of taking care of yourself, and that's dangerous. We _need_ you. You can't play your pain off like it's nothing." 

"I'm not _playing off_ anything," he says, and it's such a lie. It hurts to even hear it. "In the scheme of things, this is not a big deal. I'm a grownup. I've been one for a lot longer than you have. I can handle this. I'm perfectly fine."

Maybe he thinks he means it. Maybe he legitimately believes reaching the ripe old age of twenty-five makes him more able to handle the crap life throws at him. But I know better. Everyone has a breaking point. Even luxite can shatter if impacted hard enough. I try a different tactic.

"You say you're fine?" I ask. "Well, you'd better be. Because if you go down for the count because of this thing—or anything else—remember that _I'm_ the one you put in charge. Overburdening yourself's not fair to me, and it's not fair to the team, and it's _especially_ not fair to that freakish clone-thing I'm going to _jettison_ the instant I'm in command. So think about that before you insist on being the hero and taking on more than you can handle."

He stares at me. I've never stood up to him like this, never called his bluff, and the expression on his face makes me immediately regret it. I want to tell him I'm sorry, that I didn't mean it. That I think he's strong enough to handle anything, and I support every decision he makes. 

But he's had enough lies.

"It's good to know that's the way you feel about it," he finally tells me. "I'm enlightened." With a stiff nod, he turns on his heel and walks away.

It takes a minute for me to realize he's really going to leave it like that.

"Shiro!" I call. I stand in the corridor and watch after him as his form gets smaller and then disappears around a corner. It feels like the Trials of Marmora all over again.

"I take it back," I tell the empty silence.

I know this isn't him. It's definitive proof I'm right. Shiro swore to me back at the Garrison that he'd never abandon me, and he's proved it over and over. He understands I'm doing my best. He sees how hard I'm trying to protect him. I know he'll apologize when he can.

But knowing it doesn't keep me from hurting.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Shiro doesn't talk to me.

I tell myself it's because he's busy. It's not really a lie. We're all busy. It happened at the Garrison sometimes where there just weren't enough hours in the day. I was sure I'd done something wrong and made him hate me because I'm socially incapable and destined to die alone, but when he finished up whatever project he was on, I was always the first to know. And I usually got a trip into town and a burger the size of a small planet as an apology.

Once, he even snuck me a beer. He acted like it was this big thing. I was seventeen, and he thought I'd never drank before. He made me hide it behind my menu. It was so damn cute, I didn't even bother correcting him.

But it's not like I don't see him here. And no one else has a problem with talking. Lance talks even more than usual now that he has a stationary target that can't tell him to shut up. You can't protest when you're unconscious in a cryo pod. He babbles on about movies, food, his fabled (and obviously imaginary) abilities at basketball... I'm pretty sure he's systematically emptying every compartment of his tiny brain into fake-Shiro's hostage ears. He's giving dating tips when I finally snap.

"Knock it _off_ , Lance!" I tell him. "This _thing_ is not your new buddy."

"Mind your own beeswax, Keith. We won't know that until he wakes up," Lance tells me.

"I hope he _doesn't_ ," I tell him. 

Shiro hears me. It doesn't go over well.

I hate myself. I tried helping Shiro the way he helps me, and I just made things worse. I don't understand Shiro at all. I don't understand _anything_. I am useless as a friend and a leader. I don't even know why I'm here. What is the _point_ of it?

What do I have if I don't have Shiro?

Parades. That's what I have.

Two straight weeks of them.

Crowds, screaming children, confetti—I hate it all. It's just so... _cheerful_. If this is what saving the universe is going to be—a lifetime of endearing myself to the adoring humanoid masses in the name of the Voltron Coalition—I'm abdicating my position as Red Paladin and becoming a hermit. Maybe I'll move back to Arus and live in a cave. If I'm lucky, the natives will welcome me into their tribe on feast days for roasted meat and free hugs.

I could really use a hug right now. 

Or, you know, something. _Anything_. I'm not even picky.

My break comes when I get a chance to get back to the Blade of Marmora to finish up my training. It's tactical training, not combat, and involves a lot of computer work, but I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Everything among the Blades is quiet and methodical and calmingly low-lit purple.

Yarok comes in to catch up when I'm done. His cat-smile and glowing ear plugs are a sight for sore eyes. I'm so glad to see him, I could spit. 

Instead, I suck him off in an elevator. 

I don't actually mean to. He asks if I want to spar, and I tell him I do, but then we decide to go to up his room instead. Well, _I_ decide. The moment we're alone, I say, "We're going to your room _now_ ," and he agrees.

We don't make it there. As soon as the elevator door slides shut, I'm yanking his lips to mine and grabbing at his cock through his suit. His hands grope at my ass and lift me to grind our hips together. It's been so long, my body sings at his touch. The sound of his panting breath has me so hard, I ache. I can't wait to hear him moan my name. 

I reach blindly for the emergency stop button, biting hard at Yarok's bottom lip. He groans and pulls my legs apart so I can wrap them around his waist. The ambient purple light of the elevator turns to yellow, and the smooth motion of the elevator jerks to a halt.

"I've wanted this so badly," Yarok murmurs. His fingers press the fabric in between my ass cheeks like he could get to me fully clothed. 

"I wanna suck you," I tell him, fisting my hands in his hair. I yank his mouth away from mine and bare my teeth. There's no reason. I do it because I can.

"Oh, yes," he says, pupilless eyes squeezing shut in anticipation.

I tighten my hold on his hair and jerk again. "Put me down," I order.

He does. I walk him back against the far wall, and he hits it with an _oomph_ of breath. He helps me undo the waist of his suit, and I'm met by the welcome sight of his enormous cock. It's so incredible. So damn hot. I moan as I bring my mouth to it.

"Such skill," Yarok murmurs as I gently suckle the tip. I barely have to bend to get at it. "Such generosity." The spicy smell fills my nose, and the sweet taste fills my mouth, and I dig my incisors in experimentally. Yarok gasps and presses further into my mouth, dragging my teeth along his length.

I struggle to breathe for a minute with my mouth so full. 

"Look at you, my brave paladin," Yarok says, equal parts wonder and amusement.

I bring my hands from where I've been holding him on his upper thighs to the place where his thighs meet. I gently cup the softly furred skin hanging there.

"Careful," Yarok warns.

I hum in agreement. He likes this. His claws brush the back of my neck.

His balls fascinate me. So Galra. So _alien_. 

But not alien, I remind myself. I am Galra. I'm _me_. I am not an alien.

I slide my lips up and then back down onto his cock, working into a rhythm. I'm careful not to take in too much. Suckling as I move, I can feel the small nodules in my palm grow as they fill with fluid. I massage them with the most tender movements, soft rubbing of my thumbs and gentle strokes of my fingertips. They hang heavier and heavier in my hands.

Yarok moans and drags his claws against my scalp. He tips his pelvis toward me. His hips move in time with my mouth. "Your skill is too great. I will not last much longer," he gasps.

_I know_ , I think, and replace my mouth with a hand. It feels so good that I can get him going so quickly. "You wanna fuck me?" I ask.

His face is a blaring shade of maroon. His mouth hangs open. He shakes his head. "I don't have the condoms."

I roll my eyes. "So?"

He bites his lip. "I'm so loaded now. Every chamber is filled. If I came inside you..."

"I don't see what the big deal is," I tell him, stroking slowly. "You did before."

"That," he swallows, "was incautious of me."

"Couldn't you just pull out?" I ask. 

He laughs, breathless. "No, sweet one, I could not."

"I'm not sweet," I tell him. "Don't call me that."

"Alright," he breathes. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. "What if... maybe I could..." He scowls and tips his head back against the elevator wall. He presses a hand to his forehead in frustration. He's too turned on to think.

"Why don't you just come in my mouth?" I ask. "Or do you need a condom for that, too?"

He looks gobsmacked. "You would allow that?"

I press my lips to the leaking head of his cock. I smack a kiss against it. "Why would I care?"

"There is—" he clears his throat. "Since humans work differently, I fear you may be unprepared. Other species tend to be, even if they know."

I shrug. "Unprepared. For?" I push the tip of my tongue into the swollen hole.

"The _amount_ ," he groans, and clutches at my shoulders.

I have no idea what he's talking about.

"I _assure_ you," he follows up quickly, "my intentions are pure. I am no deviant. In no way am I interested in—"

He ends with a guttural word I can't understand. I'm guessing it's a sex act. Probably not a reputable one.

"As long as you don't do me any permanent damage, it's fine," I assure him, getting impatient. If he comes in my mouth, I'll have to wait even longer for my turn. We need to get this moving. "Do what you think is right."

He nods. "Will you need to swallow? Or do you think you can you hold it? I won't make you wait."

"I'll hold it," I tell him, not caring at this point what he's talking about. If I was full Galra, my body would work this way, too. I want to see it.

"Good," he says. A smile breaks out across his face. "I was hoping so."

I nod and suck him back into my mouth. He's gooey at the tip, and I like the slurping noise it makes. He gives a breathless laugh and settles his palms on my shoulders. I let my eyes drift shut and focus on the feel of it. The taste, the spicy smell, the press of so much thick cock inside me. Not where I really need it, but still so good. I've always liked giving head.

"...manage it, so I will tell you when I reach the end," Yarok is saying above me. I miss the first part of it. He's petting my hair back from my face. "Do not try to take it inside. Open your mouth wide as I direct, and I will fill it."

Hearing him say it makes me moan. My cock throbs. I reach a hand down to press at it.

"You like that, do you?" he chuckles. "Talk of me filling you?"

"Mmmm," I moan, and pick up the pace. My cheeks hollow in my seriousness. A sickly sweet flavor fills my mouth.

"Yes, I will _fill_ you to the very brim, brave paladin. So much, you won't be able to hold it in. I will show you how it feels to have a Galra inside you in every imaginable way, stuffed full to bursting... I will make you _complete_..."

He says such perfect things. I squeeze at my cock, holding myself steady against his hip. My head bobs. He takes hold of my shoulders and presses me toward the ground.

"Kneel down, paladin," he says, voice shaky. "Not long now... You will see..."

Falling to my knees, the angle changes. Yarok presses his cock downward into my mouth. A trail of sweet fluid slides against my tongue. I press desperately at my own cock, grabbing its outline and pumping at it uselessly. Stupid condoms, _stupid_ Yarok!

"Now, _now_!" Yarok gasps, and pulls out of my mouth. He grabs the back of my neck and pulls my mouth open by the bottom jaw. The tip of his cock presses to my open lips, and sweet, thick fluid fills my mouth.

"Oh, _Keith_ ," Yarok groans. "So beautiful!"

I gag a little and reflexively swallow but remember I said I wouldn't. Yarok shudders and presses his claws into my neck and pumps more come into my mouth, hips jerking. His cock presses hard against my teeth, and I feel the force of his semen as at sprays my tongue. Yarok moans and pumps at his own shaft and adds even more, until it drips out the corners of my mouth. With one last shudder, he pulls back and sprays across my cheek.

I try closing my mouth, and his come gushes down my chin. 

"Wait, wait," Yarok gasps, and hauls me to my feet. He keeps my mouth angled up and covers my lips with his, then goes down on his knees. With a hand against my cheek, he angles my chin so that his come flows down into his own mouth. 

"Mmmm," I moan, and gently give it back to him. 

When there's room enough in my mouth, he slides his tongue in to meet mine. He sucks at it greedily, drawing it into his own mouth. I bring a hand to his cheek, smearing my fingers in gooey sweetness.

Yarok hums in pleasure. "Such graciousness," he murmurs against my lips. He licks at my chin where his come dripped and sticks his tongue out for me to see. It's covered in neon blue.

I blink at him and look at my own fingers, also smeared with color. It looks even brighter against the white of my skin. 

Yarok licks my cheek and then presses his gooey lips to the tip of my nose. "To my room now?" he asks. "So I can make you feel even better? Paint you up even prettier?"

I nod. He brings his lips back to mine.

The lights in the elevator turn purple, and we jerk to motion. 

Yarok pulls back, eyes wide. "I did not do that." He climbs to his feet and jabs at the emergency stop button with one of his claws. Nothing happens.

"Oh no," I breathe, and wipe at the goo on my cheek.

Yarok frantically pulls his suit back up to cover himself. He's still half hard and winces at the overstimulation. "Someone must have called it with an override," he says. He has blue smeared all over his mouth.

I scrub at myself as well as I can with a glove and then yank Yarok down by his chestplate so I can wipe his mouth. I'm stuffing the sticky glove into my belt pouch when the elevator comes to a halt and the door opens. 

A Blade member with a long tail steps on. He nods at me, says "Yarok," and presses a button for a higher floor. Yarok nods back. He looks at me. I look at him. We stand in silence until the elevator stops again.

"Be careful," our Galra visitor advises. He exits the elevator, tail swishing, and leaves us in a trail of ominous quiet.

Yarok opens his mouth to say something and then closes it again. I can't read the look on his face. "What?" I ask.

He sighs. "Your nose is blue."

I wipe my fingers across it. He's right. "Great. This is just great," I say.

"Not optimal. Though it's not as if he didn't know," he says with a shrug.

I stare. "What are you talking about?"

He blinks at me. "Was I not supposed to tell anyone? You never said."

I rub at my face. Wasn't it just understood? Aren't these things private until someone says they're not? If people talk, you end up with stupid things happening. Like redheaded senior cadets blabbing about knocking boots with Shiro in the men's lounge at Commander Frank's Beer n' Burgers.

"It's not something I usually talk about," I tell Yarok. My temper doesn't flare. I'm not angry. Because it's my fault if he misunderstood about keeping quiet. I _didn't_ tell him. And it's not like it's a secret. I'm not _hiding_ it. I'm not _ashamed_. "It's just really personal."

Yarok nods. "Of course. I would never give details. But there aren't a lot of reasons you would be coming to my room with me. There's nothing else there to do."

"Right," I say. I hadn't thought about that. 

"So... up to my room now?" Yarok asks. His finger hovers over the floor number pad.

I look at him. His face is still flushed deep purple, his lips swollen. His hair is mussed. The glow from his ear pegs reflects across a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

My mouth tastes like his come. 

"I think I'd better go back to the Castleship," I tell him. 

His hand drops. "I should have waited. Doing it here was..." He shakes his head. "I wasn't thinking."

"Not your fault," I tell him. I feel sick. I might puke. I press past Yarok and hit the down button. What the hell was I thinking? That I should make myself into someone else's redheaded pre-Kerberos fling?

But maybe I am already.

I haven't wanted to think about it, but it's true.

I was careful about things while Shiro was around. People knew me as his friend. But by the time I got kicked out of the Garrison, I had a reputation in certain circles. Buy the prettyboy with a chip on his shoulder a drink and a few rounds on the holosim, and he'll let you do him in the men's room. It didn't really help my case when I was put in front of the Disciplinary Committee. 

But by that point, what did it matter? I didn't care. Shiro was gone, I hated everything, and this unexplainable force was pulling me by the navel toward the desert.

Shiro would've cared. Shiro _would_ care, now. He'd want to _talk_.

And there's that sliced-up, eviscerated feeling again. That feeling where I'm cut to the quick and gushing vital fluids onto the floor but nothing hurts nearly as badly as Shiro's disappointment.

But why would it feel that way? Shiro had _his_ redhead. And others, too. You can't believe everything you hear, but a hungover Shiro and a smug lieutenant leaving his room after a night out doesn't take a whole lot of interpreting. Or the time he had lipstick smeared on his collar the exact same color as the sexy new Tech Consultant's. It's pretty clear what he was up to. No one felt bad about it.

Is it because I'm different? Because I'm Galra? 

But Yarok's Galra, too, and he doesn't feel this way. Maybe no one feels this way. Maybe I'm just as broken as I always thought I was.

My mom didn't love me, and now I can't love anyone else.

"Are you alright?" Yarok asks.

I press my fingers against my eyes and tell myself, _I am not going to cry. I am_ not _going to cry. I am_ not _!_

"Keith," Yarok says, and touches my shoulder.

I jerk away. "I'm _fine_!" I snap. "I just—I shouldn't be here with you when there's a whole universe out there that needs saving. I'm a _paladin of Voltron_ , I have _responsibilities_ , and I'm wasting time fooling around in an elevator with some guy I hardly know!"

"I... think we know each other... fairly well?" Yarok says, his voice tentative.

"That's not the _point_ ," I say. Though it is, isn't it? I mean, shouldn't it be? "I just have to get back. I need to be near my team. That's all."

"I know you have responsibilities, Keith. We both do," he says. "I'm not trying to make your life harder."

The elevator door opens, and I storm out. I don't care what he's trying to do. He's doing it whether he's trying or not. 

He follows me for a while, saying my name like it's going to make me stop. He leaves me when I get to the docking station where Red is parked. I climb into my lion and breathe a sigh of relief when the hatch slides shut behind me. I take my seat and take the controls and find that my hands are trembling.

What is _wrong_ with me? Freaking out about being caught by someone whose name I don't even know, in a situation Shiro himself has been in? Why is being a normal _person_ so impossible?

And I didn't even _get off_!


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

When I get back to the Castleship, I don't get out of Red. I sit and try to focus my thoughts. Get back in the right headspace. It doesn't work, but at least it's quiet. No parades, no fake-Shiro. No screamingly silent disapproval from the real Shiro. Red doesn't make me analyze my biological desires or pose soul-searching questions that make me feel bad about myself for reasons I can't understand. 

After a while, Hunk's voice comes over the comm unit. "Hey, everything alright down there?" he asks. "Those Blade guys weren't too rough on you, were they?"

"I'm fine. Just getting a little quiet time in," I lie.

"I made pancakes. The syrup tastes almost exactly like the real thing," he says, "as long as you don't think about it too hard."

"Sounds great. I'll be down in a while," I tell him. 

When I don't show up, Shiro pays me a visit. I don't know if I want to see him or not. I'm really confused. The fact that Red lets him in without even sending an alert irks me.

"Hey, buddy. What's going on?" Shiro asks. He stands behind my left shoulder. A murky image of his form reflects in the monitor in front of me. His tuft of white hair tilts like he's looking at my reflection, too.

I don't even know why he's here. Or why he's calling me _buddy_.

"I hate parades," I tell him. 

"I know this isn't about the parades, Keith," he says.

I cross my arms and press back against my seat, tipping my chin up in a show of defiance. " _So?_ " Because being offensive is my best defense.

"Is it about the man we have in the cryo unit?" Shiro asks. "The one who looks like me?"

"I think I know what he _looks_ like," I snap. 

Shiro doesn't say anything. 

My anger is sharp on my tongue. It makes me feel like I'm human again. I take a deep breath to steady myself, and it dissolves like wasp-larva candy, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. "Sorry," I tell Shiro. "I don't even know why I'm mad. I mean, I'm _not_. I just... I don't even know what's going on."

Shiro sighs. He leans against the back of my seat. His arm brushes my hair. "I... should apologize. This isn't how I wanted to start this conversation. Putting you on the defensive wasn't my intention."

I don't say anything because of course he has a plan. He knows exactly where he wants this conversation to go. 

Why do _I_ never have a plan?

"And I want to apologize for something else. We had a fight, didn't we?" Shiro asks. "I don't know how to have a proper fight with someone. I'm used to keeping the peace."

"You're getting lessons from an expert," I tell him. "I do it all the time."

The reflected white of his hair shifts as he moves directly behind me. His human hand glides across the top of my seat. "I guess it was a doozy, wasn't it? It's been weeks, and we've barely spoken. That's my fault. The way I treated you wasn't fair. I was overextended, and... I made the very poor choice of taking it out on you. And I'm sorry."

"I _told_ you so," I remind him. "You wouldn't listen."

He reaches a hand down and ruffles my hair. "It's generous of you not to rub my nose in it." 

The corners of my lips turn up. "Don't mention it."

"So are we okay? Am I forgiven?" he asks. His palm rests on the top of my head. "To be honest, I expected this to be harder."

"Why?" I ask. "How could I not forgive you?"

"By saying _no_ ," he tells me.

"You know I'd never say that," I tell him.

"If it's what you feel, you're well within your rights to say it. You don't have to forgive someone just because it's what they want from you, Keith." His fingers comb softly through my hair. "You don't _owe_ anyone forgiveness. Only the truth."

I tilt my head back, and his fingertips brush my scalp. "How could forgiving you not be the truth?" 

His reflection is looking down at me, and his gentle fingertips graze the soft skin just behind my earlobe. It feels nice. "I talked to Kolivan a little while ago," he says. The change of subject throws me for a second. "He says you're ready to go on your first mission. How do you feel about that?" 

"He's right," I tell him. "I'm ready."

"It'll be intelligence gathering." Shiro says. "Kolivan himself is going, along with a tech expert named Regris. He sent over the specs."

I don't know who Regris is, but if Kolivan is going, it must be something important. Not that the Blade of Marmora goes on _unimportant_ missions, but it makes me feel good to know I'm going to do something worth doing. 

"That sounds good," I tell Shiro.

"You're sure you want to do this?" he asks. "You haven't changed your mind?"

I shake my head. My ear brushes against Shiro's hand. "Why would I change my mind?"

His fingers take one more pass over my hair and then draw back. His hand rests on the seatback. "Let's cut to the chase, Keith. Something's bothering you. You've been acting differently ever since you started your Marmora training. You recognize that, right?"

_I_ recognize it, but I hadn't realized he did, too. 

I press my lips together to ward off the feelings I don't have a name for.

"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," he says when I shift in my seat. "I just want to know how I can help."

"If I understood, I'd explain it to you," I tell him. It's not Shiro that's making me uncomfortable. It's because I just realized my lips still taste like Yarok's come. 

I'm so mixed up over it. 

Shiro nods. "That's okay. Let's start with what you _don't_ understand. That's as good a place as any."

I sigh. This would be easier if Shiro was still touching my hair. "I just..." 

It's not like I don't want to open up to him. But he's been hurt enough. He lost a _limb_. And I can only imagine how he'd react if I explained to him what was going through my head right now. If I told him that the thing I want most in the universe is for Yarok to bend me over Red's control console and pound my ass until I scream.

I hang my head and feel like puking.

Shiro squats down beside me. He pats my knee and then props an elbow on it, resting his cheek against his hand. The angle as he looks up at me makes his face seem strangely young. "Hey," he says. "It's okay. You can tell me anything."

It's not true, but I'm glad he thinks it is. And I like having him closer, where I can see the sincerity in his eyes, and the curve of his scar across the bridge of his nose. I pull my hands together in my lap so I don't reach out and touch it. 

"Before I knew I was Galra, I used to be just... _pissed off_. All the time," I say to him. My voice sounds more level than I feel. "Even when I didn't have anything to be angry about."

"But you don't feel that way anymore," Shiro says.

I shake my head. "The anger just... _left_. And I started training with the Blade of Marmora, and I thought... this is it. I understand why I never felt like I belonged on Earth. My life is finally going to make _sense_. This explains _everything_. But now I'm seeing it didn't. I'm not sure it explained anything at all."

Shiro nods slowly, processing it. His arm on my knee drops across my thighs so he can look at me from a more natural angle. "So what I think I'm hearing you say is, you still feel like you don't belong. With Team Voltron _or_ the Blade of Marmora?"

After thinking about it for a minute, prodding at the queasy feeling Yarok leaves inside me every time I'm with him, I nod. "Yeah. I guess that's what I'm saying."

"Is there anyplace you feel like you _do_ belong?" Shiro asks.

_With you_ , I don't say. _I feel like I belong with you._ Because wanting to belong and truly belonging are two different things. The warmth of his arm across my legs isn't something I get to keep. "I don't know. Maybe not."

"That's a perfectly valid answer. I'm glad you were able to tell me that," he says. He smiles encouragingly. "But let's try something. Let's say, hypothetically, that you could choose anywhere to be and anyone to be with. Tell me what that would look like."

I heave a sigh. "I don't do hypotheticals, Shiro. You _know_ that. And that _is_ a Galra thing, by the way."

"Well, but what if you _did_ do them, hypothetically?" he asks, and smiles when I shoot him a death pout. "Just this once, why don't you give it a shot?"

"Why don't _you_?" I counter. "Where would _you_ be?"

He blinks up at me, and his smile broadens. "That's easy. I'd be right here with you."

I want to smack him. "Liar. You wouldn't."

"Where else would I be? Hypothetically, though, I would've brought pancakes," he says. "They really were good. I tried to nab you some, but the space mice got to them first."

"Must be tough, competing with mice," I tell him.

"I think if we loosed them on the Galra Empire, we'd have Lotor down for the count in days," he says.

I nod. "Why haven't we tried this yet? It's your best plan yet. You should talk to Coran and Allura about it right now. Have them make tiny mouse armor."

"You're trying to divert my attention by making me laugh, and it's not going to work," he tells me.

"I was hoping it would," I tell him.

"I noticed," he says.

"This is _depressing_ ," I announce, drooping against my pilot's seat. "I have no idea where I'd rather be than here, and you actually _want_ to be here. What's _wrong_ with us?"

"For my part?" he says. "I was abducted by aliens and presumed dead by the entire human race while said aliens experimented on me, forced me to fight gladiatorial battles for their own amusement, and cut off my arm and replaced it with a weapon. Also, I'm dying for a Budweiser."

" _Budweiser_?" I say, grimacing. "That stuff's _terrible_."

"Our feelings don't always make sense," he says with a shrug. "Now what about you?" He pokes at my thigh.

"Okay," I say. I can do this. "I'm part alien, my mom abandoned me, I have no people skills, and..." _I'm craving the taste of Galra cock_. Shit. No, wait a minute...

"Your face is red," Shiro says.

"This game is stupid," I tell him. "I'm not playing. Get out of my lion."

He laughs. 

I shove at his shoulder. "I'm not joking. _Out_." 

He just smiles at me, and when I push him again, he rolls to the floor like I'm actually strong enough to move him. He stretches his arms out, closes his eyes, and yawns enormously. Then he goes slack against the ground.

I prod at him with the reinforced toe of my Marmora suit. He doesn't budge. "You dead?" I ask.

"Mmm," he says. He tips his head to the side and opens his mouth like he's playing with a little kid and just got stabbed with a foam sword. He sticks his tongue out the side of his mouth to make it extra authentic. 

I try not to smile. I fail. "I can't believe the universe's best hope for freedom is _us_."

"Here, push up daisies with me, Keith," dead-Shiro says. He holds up a hand.

I really want to take it and never let go.

Instead, I drop to the floor beside him. I lean against the side of my pilot seat and pull my knees to my chest. "Don't tell Lance that one," I tell Shiro. "He'll add it to his arsenal of pickup lines."

"Nah," Shiro says. His hand lowers to his chest. He presses it flat against his rib cage. "Lance's lines are better than that."

I gape at him. "You're joking. The other day, I heard him ask Blue, _Is that a bayard in your pocket or are you just happy to—_ "

"Okay, I stand corrected," Shiro says. He holds up his hands in defeat.

I smile and order myself to stop wanting to curl up on the floor next to him. 

It doesn't really work.

Shiro takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. A quiet descends on us. I wish it could be peaceful, but I've got too much going on in my head.

I nudge Shiro's side with my foot. He cracks open an eye. "I'm sorry for making things harder for you," I tell him. "About, you know, the guy who looks like you. But you said... you talked about me being a _leader_ , you know? Leaders don't sit back and let bad things happen."

Shiro frowns and then pulls himself up off the ground so he's sitting next to me. He stretches his muscled legs out across the cockpit and crosses them at the ankles. I wish I had legs like his. "Here's the thing, Keith: walking away from you instead of hashing out the problem was unfair to both of us," he says. "But it was the best I could do at the time. I want you to understand that."

"I do," I promise.

"The truth is, it was _myself_ I was upset with. I know what you're capable of, and that gives me certain expectations," he explains. "But I haven't given you enough guidance for you to live up to those expectations. And that's on me, not you. Does that make sense?"

I shake my head. I'm pretty sure I'm doing a great job of failing all on my own.

"Leadership is a natural thing for me," Shiro says, "but I didn't come out of the womb spouting off about teamwork. Like any other skill, it's something I had to reinforce through trial and error. I've just gotten to the point where it's second nature. And that's where I need to get you, too."

"Good luck," I tell him.

He laughs and then clears his throat like he didn't mean to. This is a serious matter. "The thing is, I've never taught anyone else to be a leader. _I'm_ the leader. I teach people to be better followers."

"Makes sense," I say. "Voltron doesn't need two heads."

"That would look strange," he agrees. "You'd have to hold the sword in your mouth."

"I _already_ hold it in my mouth," I say. "Voltron's hands are _mouths_."

He stares blankly at me, like he's never thought of this before.

"You're a dork," I tell him.

He beams and squeezes my shoulder. I wish he'd put his arm around me, but he doesn't. "Keith, leading Team Voltron isn't as hard as you think. But it relies on _trust_. And as leader, that trust begins and ends with you."

"Trusting people hasn't worked out so great for me," I admit. 

"I understand that," he acknowledges. "But we have our team, and we've _got_ to trust they can get the job done. As leaders, our duty is to support them and trust in _ourselves_ that we've done enough to get them where they need to be."

It's weird him saying _we_. _Our_ team. Like the two of us are somehow partners, equals in this thing. I kind of like it.

"But another aspect of leading is getting the _team_ to believe in _us_. To have faith that the direction we're leading them is the right one. _Inspiring_ trust. Even when we're not sure ourselves," Shiro says. His eyebrows raise, and he adds, " _Especially_ when we're not sure."

"You always _sound_ sure," I tell him. 

"That's because I'm very good at what I do," he says. "And I _trust_ that you will be too, given the chance."

I don't know how I feel about that. I mean, it's kind of a shame. Shiro should have someone better. Someone more experienced. Someone who never lets him down.

Someone whose mouth doesn't taste like a Galra blowjob.

"Shiro?" I start.

I'm not quite sure what I mean to say. Whatever it is, it's cut short when Allura's voice comes over Red's comm. "Keith, are you there?"

"I'm here," I tell her. "Shiro's with me."

"We've received a distress call," she says. She sounds agitated. "We need everyone on the Command Deck immediately."

Shiro and I exchange a look. "On our way," he says, and hauls himself up off the ground. He reaches a hand down and pulls me up with him. The reassurance of his grip around my wrist leaves too soon. "Any indication as to the source of the distress call?"

"Yes," she says. "It's Altean!"

Xxxxx

The distress code Allura picked up is identical to the ones used by King Alfor's ships 10,000 years ago. She attempted to open communications but didn't get a response. "It may be too much to hope for," she says, looking a little shaky among the paladins, "but... perhaps we are _not_ the last Alteans alive."

"Alright, let's investigate," says Shiro. "But keep your eyes open, everyone. Someone could be cloning the signal to lure us in."

"That sounds like something Prince Lotor would do," I tell him. Because it's something _I_ would do.

Allura sends us through a wormhole to the coordinates of the distress beacon. We emerge to the sight of a small gray and red ship. Or rather, _half_ a ship. The other half has been sucked into some sort of void, which ripples with waves of orange light.

"That looks like a Tel-Galax exploration shuttle," Allura says. "One of my father's deep space vessels."

"According to the ship's identification code, it's Commodore Trayling's ship," Coran announces, bringing up the shuttle's schematics on his display. I eye the readings but can't make anything of them. "But I don't see any records of its destination or mission."

"What happened to it?" Lance asks.

"Is it stuck in a wormhole?" Hunk offers.

"That's unlike any wormhole _I've_ ever seen," says Coran.

"We have to see if anyone is aboard," Allura says, when Pidge can't tell us what the energy emanating from the area around the ship is. "They may need our help." She looks to Shiro for further instructions.

"Alright," says Shiro. He crosses his arms and nods. "Keith, I want you to take this one. This is as good a time as any."

I stare at him.

"Don't worry, I'll be right here if you need me," he says. "You can do this. I have full confidence in you."

I'm glad one of us does.

"Wait," Lance says. "Wait, you're putting _Keith_ in charge? _That's_ the mother of all bad ideas."

"I've been working with Keith lately to involve him in more of a leadership role," Shiro says. "If anything happens to me, we're going to need someone who can step into my shoes without too much disruption. He's agreed to be that person."

I don't actually remember agreeing to it, but now is probably not the time to bring that up.

"What, is something wrong? Did something happen to you, Shiro?" Hunk asks. "Are you sick? Do you have some weird and disgusting alien disease? Is it _contagious_?"

"No one is sick, but everyone needs backup. Keith is mine," Shiro tells him. 

"If everyone needs backup, then who's _Keith's_ backup?" Lance demands.

"That's Keith's decision to make," Shiro tells him. "If you want it to be you, you're going to need to convince him you're the right paladin for the job."

"Oh, _maaaan_! Why do I always get the _hard_ jobs?" Lance moans.

"Okay, let's get down to business," I announce, to shut Lance up. I walk up to Shiro's command chair and rest my hand against the console. Sitting wouldn't feel right. "We've got a distress call coming from a 10,000-year-old Altean exploration shuttle that's sticking out of an unidentifiable energy-spewing rift. Give me some options."

"We could send a probe over to it," Pidge offers. I look over my shoulder at her, and she adds, "See if we can get some kind of idea what this thing is?"

I nod. It's an easy call to make. "Do it."

Pidge and Hunk find nothing identifiable in the probe's readings. No one has any explanation for why we're seeing what we're seeing, but Coran recognizes the energy signature. "It's radiating _quintessence_!" he exclaims.

But then the anomaly destroys our probe, which is less exciting.

"Okay, well, let's not go anywhere near _there_ ," Lance says. 

"We must!" Allura urges. "We received an Altean distress call, which means that _someone_ is alive on the ship. As Paladins of Voltron, it is your duty to help."

Of course that's what she wants to do. It's the first time I've agreed with Lance in forever, so _someone_ has to complicate it. "Are you _sure_?" I ask her. "Could the transmission be a system malfunction caused by the anomaly?"

"You mean the big energy-spewing hole it's stuck in? Malfunctions happen. That could be a thing, right?" Hunk offers. He looks hopeful at this thought.

"It's possible the extreme levels of quintessence overloaded the ship's systems and initiated a false beacon," Pidge says. "And it's pretty obvious _something's_ wrong here."

"Voltron's compositional strength far exceeds anything else in the universe," Allura insists. "The probability that it would be affected is extremely low. You _must_ go in closer to investigate."

I shake my head. This situation just isn't adding up. I look over at Shiro, but he's watching the display screen with a passive expression, being completely unhelpful. If I didn't like him so much, I'd be annoyed. This isn't a training exercise. "Pidge, can you tell how quickly the ship is getting pulled into the anomaly?" I ask. "How much time do we have here?"

She pushes a few buttons, frowns at her monitors, and says, "It's _not_. The ship is stable. In its current state, it could sit here for another 10,000 years and not budge an inch."

"If it's not moving, how did it get stuck in the big glowy hole to begin with?" Lance asks.

"Shiro, _please_!" Allura says. She clutches her hand controls, looking desperate. "We cannot delay another instant!"

"Don't look at me," he says. "This is Keith's decision to make."

"Look," I tell her, before she starts up again, "if Voltron gets destroyed the same way that probe was, or gets swallowed up like that ship, we're of no help to anyone. We can't risk the fate of the _universe_ on a suspicious distress beacon that may or may _not_ be coming from actual living people."

"But they are _my_ people!" Allura pleads.

"Then come up with a better plan," I tell her. Her tearful eyes do nothing to me. "Voltron is _not_ going in there!"

"Wow, great leadership skills, Keith," Lance says. "I feel totally confident in you."

"I feel _totally confident_ in duct-taping your mouth shut," I tell him. "Unless you have a better idea—"

"A _better idea_ than making a pretty girl cry?" Lance demands.

"I don't care if she's a pretty girl, boy, squirrel, or _hyena_ , her demands that we risk Voltron on unverified claims are—" I almost say selfish but catch myself "—not smart. If there are people there, why aren't they answering us? Something about this situation stinks like a setup."

"It stinks like _you_ being a coward!" Lance shoots back.

I bristle. "I am _not_ a—"

"Hey, so guys?" Hunk says. "Sorry to interrupt the exchange of so many really great ideas, but where is the bridge on this Altean ship? I mean, it's on the other side of that crazy hole thing, right?"

"Yes, we're only seeing the _back_ end of the shuttle," Coran confirms.

"Okay, but distress calls come from the bridge, right?" Hunk says. "So if the bridge isn't here..."

Pidge's eyes widen, and she snaps her fingers. " _I_ get it! Nothing other than quintessence is coming out of that anomaly. There's no communication possible from the other side. Which means the distress call _can't_ be coming from the ship."

"So where the heck is it coming from?" Lance asks.

"Pidge, do a scan of the surrounding space," I order, a sinking feeling in my stomach. "Are there any ships within attacking distance?"

"Negative," she says. "Though there's a nebula nearby with enough interference that it could be hiding a ship or two, if they're on the small side. Not a Galra battle cruiser, but—"

"Prince Lotor's ship would be small enough," I finish for her. 

Pidge nods. "It could be easily concealed from our scanners by the debris. At full speed, it would take him less than a varga to reach us."

"Allura, get us out of here," I order.

"But my _people_! _Please_ ," she begs. Her hands grip the controls. A tear drips down one cheek. "We must—"

"I get that you're upset, but this is a _trap_. Your people are _dead_. They have been for 10,000 years. We need to get out of here before the same thing happens to us," I tell her. "Now open a wormhole and _get us out of here_."

"Keith is right, Allura," Shiro says. He steps up beside her and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Hope is a fragile thing, and I know exactly what it feels like to have it crushed. I understand it's a harsh reality, but getting ourselves ambushed won't do your people's memory justice. We need to leave and regroup."

"Your father would be proud of your perseverance, Allura," Coran reassures her.

Allura nods, wipes the shiny trails of tears from her cheeks, and focuses her energy to materialize a wormhole. We're through and safe before anyone watching us has time to react.

Xxxxx

"I'm really happy with how well you did," Shiro tells me later. 

"I fought with Lance and made Allura cry," I remind him, staring up at the liquid blue of the ceiling. We've gone to the pool room to do a little decompressing. I like it a lot better now that I know it's the kind of pool you look at, not the kind you swim in.

"It wasn't perfect," he says, which is a nice way of putting it, "but you got the job done. It was the delay caused by the argument that gave Hunk enough time to figure out that the distress beacon was a fake. I'm not sure that would've happened if I'd been the one in charge."

"You think you would've sent Voltron in?" I ask.

"Possibly," he says, "though not into the anomaly itself. I was actually thinking we might try pulling the ship out of the rift."

"Why didn't _I_ think of that?" I muse.

He smiles. "Because you don't have a soft spot for people crying over their lost civilization."

"I felt _bad_ ," I lie, feeling bad for not feeling bad. "There's just nothing I could _do_ about it."

He nods and looks up at the undulating blue of the pool. The lights of the structural pillars shine across its surface and reflect into a thousand tiny slices of brilliance across his face. "You remember what I was saying earlier?" he asks. "About trust?"

I ask, "How could I forget?"

"Well, sometimes," Shiro says, "in order to lead, you have to inspire someone to trust _themselves_. For example, let's take Lance."

I roll my eyes. "Ugh, let's _not_ take Lance."

"Rivalry isn't necessarily bad," Shiro tells me, "but this constant bickering is getting you nowhere. If you want to lead this team, you're going to have to settle things with him."

_I don't want to lead this team_ , I don't remind him. 

"Admittedly, Lance has some things to work on. We _all_ do. But what good does it do to keep reminding him? How is it helping the situation by making him distrust _himself_?" Shiro asks. "We need every member of Team Voltron at their best."

"So I'm supposed to overlook all the stupid things he does and feed him compliments?" I say.

He raises an eyebrow. "Is what you're doing now working?"

I scowl up at the liquid radiance of the ceiling. He has a point. It's kind of irritating.

"Believe it or not, you and Lance could make a great team," Shiro tells me. "And what I said about everyone needing backup is true. If the two of you work things out, I truly think he could be the second in command you need."

I would frankly rather have a hungry weblum backing me up, but silence is the better part of valor (or whatever), so I keep my mouth shut.

"Let's try another example about inspiring self-trust and how we can use it to our advantage," Shiro says. "How about you and me. When you're feeling overwhelmed, what do I do to help you out?"

I shrug. "Tell me stuff about myself. Say I can do whatever it is I have to do."

"Exactly. Whether it's passing an exam or finding your lion all on your own because Pidge needed intel on her brother, I tell you what I know you can do," he says. "And you trust me—and therefore _yourself_ —and you do it. But let's turn this on its head for a minute. What about when I was having a hard time with our... _guest_ and needed some help from you? What did you do?" 

"I tried _talking_ to you," I say. "You wouldn't listen."

"You did try. I acknowledge that. And I'm thankful for it, Keith, I am," he says. "But what sort of stuff did you tell me? Good things about myself? Positive thoughts about my abilities? Do you remember what you said to me?"

I wrap my arms around myself and duck my head. I remember _exactly_ what I said. 

"It was pretty negative, wasn't it?" Shiro says. His voice is gentle, but it still stings. "And I'm not saying it wasn't the truth, because it was. Everything you said was true, Keith. But I needed a _different_ truth. I needed to hear that I was strong and capable of doing anything I set my mind to. That all I needed was a little support, and everything would be fine."

"But you already _know_ that," I insist.

"When we're at our weakest, these are the things we need to hear, whether we know them or not. You're very good at finding flaws, Keith," he tells me, "in both systems and people. This is an essential skill in taking apart an enemy, but not in bolstering an ally. Not in supporting a _friend_."

My face heats in shame. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are. Which is why we're having this conversation," he says. "But from now on, I need you to be more conscious of the way you interact with people. Okay?"

I feel terrible. Looking back at it, threatening to throw an unconscious man out an airlock because Shiro wouldn't do what I wanted seems so petty. Childish. If I wasn't so stupid, so completely _oblivious_ to everything other than myself, I would've realized. 

I wanted to comfort him. I _did_. Why didn't I do it? Why didn't I wrap my arms around him and tell him I had his back?

What is _wrong_ with me?

I blink as Shiro's hand clasps my shoulder, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Make sure your contributions are helping, not hurting. Be gentle with Allura's idealism. Don't let Lance's barbs get to you. Build up, not break down." He says. The corners of his eyes crease as he graces me with a smile. The reflected light from above makes it look like the brightest thing in the universe. "I know you can do it."

"Build up, not break down," I repeat numbly, blinded. "I'll try my best."

"Your best is all I'll ever ask for," he says, and pulls me into a hug.

And I want _so much_ for it to be true.

Xxxxx

That night, I pay fake-Shiro a visit. He's still there in the cryo pod in his white medical suit with his hair just as ratty as ever. The others joked about Hippie Shiro and Sheriff Shiro and Rockstar Shiro, but this thing isn't any of those. 

This is broken Shiro. Lost Shiro. Shiro without a mind or a purpose or a will. He's a Shiro I don't recognize.

Maybe that's why he scares me so much.

"I have to be better," I tell him, pushing all that aside. "Shiro says I have it in me to lead Voltron. I don't know if that's true. I don't know _what's_ true anymore. But I _can_ be better. I _will_. Even if it kills me, I will be what Shiro needs."

I tell him this because telling myself doesn't help, and there's no one else who'd listen. 

I tap at the glass in front of the comatose man's face. Part of me expects him to open his eyes, but maybe the universe has served me up enough drama for one day. Maybe things are finally calming down. Going my way. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and this awful urge to be fucked within an inch of my life will finally be gone. 

It has to end sometime, right?

"I'm doing it," I tell fake-Shiro. "I'm going to be _enough_. Just watch me."

And even if he doesn't answer, I get the distinct impression he believes me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading, and especially everyone who's left comments! I enjoy reading your thoughts so much! I haven't been writing as much as I meant to lately because I've been learning to embroider (so I can make Sheith fanart, of course, why else?), but I'm pretty solid out through Chapter 17. Barring any major issues with migraines, I plan to keep updating weekly at least until then. 
> 
> Aaaand without further ado, on to Keith's continuing inability to make positive life choices!

CHAPTER 11

I feel better after making peace with Shiro. This whole leadership thing has given me a new focus, and I'm more centered than I have been in a long time. More like someone who can handle life. Someone _normal_. Like the universe finally dealt me a decent hand. 

I even have a whole conversation with Lance that certain people might consider civil. You can't say that's not progress.

I don't know how I end up back in Yarok's room. I have no idea why I'm naked in his bed with his mouth latched to my nipple and finger up my ass. It's like it's happening to someone else. Everything is hazy and distant and so, _so_ nice.

"How do you feel?" Yarok asks. His breath puffs hot against my skin.

"Mmm, good," I tell him. My entire body is lax with pleasure. My hands lie on the pillow beside my face, motionless. A blanket covers my feet so they won't get cold. Yarok made me comfortable. He's _still_ making me comfortable. I could lie here all day. 

As a matter of fact, I think I might.

"Would you like me to try my mouth?" he asks. His finger slides in further, pressing into me so perfectly, and I arch against him. 

"Aren't you already?" I ask, when I catch my breath.

He chuckles. His tongue is more nimble than a human's. His teeth are too sharp for this, but he plucks at my hardened nipple with his tongue and lips. "Down lower," he says, and flattens his tongue against my heated skin. He shows me what he means with his other hand.

It's so good. Everything is a haze of pleasant feelings. "Mmm, not down there," I murmur.

"Of course," he says. "Anything you want." 

"Want another finger," I tell him, and widen my knees.

He hums in agreement and does as I say. The press of it makes my balls tighten. He backs off just before it gets to be too much, and I breathe a sigh at how perfect it is.

Everything he does goes straight to my core, that flickering inner spark of desire. It's electric. Like hard wiring, he completes the circuit, and energy flows through me in a self-perpetuating arc. I move his top hand and lay his palm against my stomach. He spreads his fingers and covers from hipbone to hipbone. His claws scratch lightly against my soft skin, a warning and a promise.

"So small, brave paladin," he murmurs. "So precious."

"Not that small," I tell him. 

He chuckles and moves his mouth to the other nipple. His shoulders span my body from hip to chin. I close my eyes and run a hand across his shoulder blades. My fingers dip and hop over hills and valleys of taut muscle.

"Let's do this forever," I tell him.

His fingers inside me agree. They go gentle and stroke in smooth, warm motions. 

Yarok brings his lips to mine. We kiss slowly, languidly, like time means nothing and intergalactic war is some cheesy invention of a low-budget sci-fi film. Look closely, and you'll see the strings that hang the Moon.

"I want to give you something," Yarok murmurs against my mouth. The pointed tips of his teeth nip at my lips.

"Will I like it?" I ask. I take him by the nape of the neck and pull his mouth back down to mine. I press the blunt ends of my fingernails into his skin. 

We kiss some more. He slips another finger inside me. The burn is sharp at first but blurs into something fluid. Something breathtaking. I moan into his mouth. His free hand opens the cabinet beside the bed where the condoms sit forgotten.

"I am not going to stab you," he tells me.

I smile. "What a shame."

He presses a sheathed blade to my chest. "For you."

I can't disagree with his choice of present, but this seems like a strange time for a gift of weaponry. He still has three fingers inside me.

"This was my father's. I want you to have it," he tells me. "It's called a chylyx." He pulls it from the scabbard and twists it in front of me. The blade is as narrow as a dinner knife but twice as long, with curved side guards. The light of his bedroom glints purple off its polished surface. It might be made of luxite, like our Marmora blades. It's magnificent.

"Why would you give me," I pause for a second as his fingers hit that particularly nice place, "your father's dagger? Don't you want it to remember him by?"

"I never met him," he tells me. "He died before I was born. Killed in a mission against the Galra Empire. They say his death was an honorable one." 

I press a fingertip to the edge of the blade. It could cut with a thought. So beautiful. 

Yarok takes my hand and wraps it around the hilt. "Galra have a natural aversion to large bodies of water. Since Father was part Nalquonian, he was quite at home on water-based planets. He went on dozens of successful espionage missions before he met his end."

"You're Nalquonian?" I ask, mindlessly. I don't even know what a Nalquonian _is_. But even lying here, I can tell the weapon is something special. Something with meaning. Something you don't offer to someone on a whim.

Yarok nods and kisses my forehead. "An eighth. Didn't I tell you? Many of us here are of mixed blood. You're a perfect addition to our ranks."

His fingers inside me get more serious, and I grasp at the hilt of the chylyx in reflex. I squeeze my eyes shut and ride a wave of pleasure as he brushes against something warm and beckoning. I want more of him inside me...

...almost.

"Do you like it?" Yarok asks.

" _Yes_ ," I gasp, as another gentle wave crests. It takes a minute to realize he means the blade, not what he's doing to me. "It's incredible. But I—I can't _keep_ it, Yarok." Though my answer is the same.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"It wouldn't be," I take a steadying breath, " _right_. You shouldn't give away your dad's stuff."

"It's mine to give away if I please," he tells me, and kisses the tip of my nose. "I would be honored for you to bear it. When you wield it in battle, you can think of me."

I shake my head and put it back in the scabbard. My hands aren't the steadiest, and I nick Yarok's wrist in the process. Blood wells up, crimson against the purple of his skin, but he doesn't react.

I push the sheathed chylyx off my chest and bring Yarok's wrist to my lips. His fingers inside me slow as I kiss the trail of blood. He locks eyes with mine. 

I stick out my tongue and lick off my lips. "Keep your knife," I whisper.

"Keith," Yarok says, voice not as calm as it was. He swallows hard. "I want to... I know you would enjoy... Would it be alright if I..."

I smile. "Spit it out."

He blinks. "Spit what out?"

I tip my chin up and close my eyes, relaxing back against the mattress. I feel so, _so_ good. "It's just an expression. Means... say what you wanna say."

Yarok takes a shaky breath. "Keith. I would be... you would do me such honor if you would allow me to... Could I put it in your—?" He ends this incomprehensible question with another word I can't begin to understand, thick, harsh Galra. 

"What?" I say.

Yarok clears his throat. "I would use a condom! Of course! The blue one, to give you the proper pleasure! It would be entirely safe—I'm not asking _that_! I only..."

"No," I tell him, tired of it. I just want him to keep doing what he's been doing. Forever. "I don't want to."

His fingers inside me stop moving. "But I thought... you seemed so _eager_."

I squirm beneath him, trying to get him going again. I'm uncomfortable and self-conscious now that nothing's happening. Lying in another man's bed with his fingers up your ass isn't the most dignified position. "Can't we just keep doing _this_?"

"But why do you think I'm _doing_ it?" he asks. His voice has a pleading tone to it. "What else could be my motivation?"

"Ugh," I groan, and push his hand away. His fingers slide out with an unpleasant squelch. The backs of my thighs are coated in my own fluid. 

"I _understand_. You've never had a Galra partner before," he coaxes. "Your apprehension is to be expected. But there's no reason to let that get in our way."

"I don't even know what you're _talking_ about," I say.

"What?" he asks, golden eyes wide. "But do you not feel it? The connection between the two of us?"

"I did until you started saying weird things." I sit up rub at the back of my neck. My back feels stiff. How long have I been lying here?

"Surely you understand what I mean," he tries. "You _must_ feel it as well. It has been there since the very start!"

"I can't believe you're doing this," I tell him. I grab my suit from the end of the bed where he slung it when he undressed me. "This is stupid."

"But if you did not feel it, why did you perform the—" another Galra word "—on me? It's unfair that you _toy_ with my emotions. I _know_ you feel as I do!"

"I _feel_ annoyed with you for talking nonsense and ruining a perfectly nice afternoon," I snap. 

"It's nearly midnight," he says.

I throw up my arms in exasperation. "What _ever_!" 

"But," he protests, "do you not understand how very deeply I care for you? Have I not made my suit clear?"

I gape. "Your _suit_?"

"Of course!" he says, eyes wide and earnest. "You have no attachments, nor do I! There is no reason why the two of us cannot form a bond. Side by side, what obstacle could we not overcome?"

"Look, I like you," I tell him. I stuff my feet into my Marmora suit and pull it up to my waist. "You don't irritate me nearly as much as most other people. But my bond is with my lion. I'm a paladin of _Voltron_. That's where my loyalties lie."

"Of course. I understand that," he assures me, voice soothing. His hands flutter like he wants to touch me but doesn't dare. "But what of loyalties of the _heart_?"

I stare at him. I am an utter blank inside. "I told you, Yarok. I told you the _first time_. I don't get that kind of feelings."

"But surely this time is different!" he insists. "When you feel how beautifully your—" gibberish Galra word "—prepares itself for me, how it blossoms at my touch, aching for the most sacred union—"

"Whoa! Whoa, _stop_!" I interrupt, stomach plummeting. Even if I don't know all the words, I know the feeling. Something in me wants all of him, but the rest of me screams to get the _hell_ out of here. "We are not forming a _sacred union_. I do not have _feelings_ for you. I'm here for the sex, and that's it. I _told_ you!"

He gapes at me, looking hurt. "How can you say such a thing? With the way we move together on the training room floor? The way we ache for each other's touch? The way your body has been begging for me to _complete_ it—"

" _Enough!_ " I snap. "Whatever you think is going on, it's _not_. This is over, okay? Done! I thought you were different. I thought this could work. But you're _just_ like everyone else. I tell you what I'm offering, and all you want is _more_!" 

"But Keith," he pleads as I strap on my belt. "My paladin...!"

"I'm not your _anything_!" I snap. "We're finished!"

I storm out of the room in a flurry of purple and black. As the door slides shut, I hear Yarok shout, and the sound of something solid being thrown against the wall. I think it's his dad's knife.

I sprint to my lion and don't look back.

Xxxxx

When I get to my room, I strip off my clothes and throw myself into bed. I toss and turn on the sheets in a fever of frustrated desire. I finger myself, but my hands are smaller than Yarok’s. I can’t reach that place inside where he made feel so good. I look around my room frantically for something that might work, and my eyes fall on my Marmora blade.

My fingers wrap around the scabbard. It’s disgusting that I actually think about how it would feel to use the hilt of it.

I scream at it in frustration and toss the blade aside. Furious at my lack of control, I launch myself into my bathroom. Turning on the shower as cold as it will go, I gasp in shock as it turns me into a popsicle.

I feel a lot better. Popsicles don’t have sex drives.

The Blade mission is in less than six hours. My first one. _Real_ action, for once. No parades, no kissing babies, no demented fake smiles. No comatose fake-Shiro. No Yarok and his crazytalk going back on what we agreed to. Just a goal to accomplish with the underlying promise of blissful, understandable violence.

That, I can handle.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My adorable nephew gave me a terrible cold, but I'm 99% sure this makes sense. If I messed anything up, please let me know, and I'll fix it!

CHAPTER 12

I arrive at the base in my Blade of Marmora suit, dagger strapped to my side and itching for some real action.

Our mission is infiltration: break into a Galra outpost, hack into their computer systems, and get information on their supply lines. An army marches on its stomach, and cutting food supplies from the further outposts would put a severe crimp in their plans. Cutting off their _energy_ supplies would leave them dead in the water.

And I wouldn't mind if it came to blows.

Kolivan meets me at the docking station door. He has his mask on, his hood up, and his long braid wrapped over his shoulders. “You will return to your ship,” he tells me.

I’m not sure what’s going on because I’ve never heard him tell a joke before. I didn't think he knew how. “I was prepped for a mission,” I say. "Is it not happening?”

“We are sending someone more qualified,” Kolivan replies.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, starting to get annoyed. I _need_ this. “You said I completed my training. I'm _ready_. Why would you take me off the mission?”

“Not just the mission. Everything. You are no longer welcome here," he tells me. "You will leave.”

I gape at him. “What the hell is going on?”

He asks, "Is that truly a question that requires an answer?"

"I... yes?" I try. 

After a moment of silence, he says, “Your behavior falls short of required standards for a Blade member. Our organization will have no further association with an individual who comports himself in such a manner.”

“This,” I don’t even know how to respond, “this is a misunderstanding. I mean, it _must_ be. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you not?” He asks. “Do you suppose that strengthens your case?”

I shake my head, baffled. “My case of _what_?”

Kolivan brings himself up to his full height, as if he wasn’t already tall enough. “Red Paladin of Voltron,” he announces, “your conduct toward fellow Blade member Yarok Hakkolivan has been deemed unacceptable. You are formally stripped of your rights of membership until you atone for your behavior and regain our trust. You will now go.”

I gape at him. Jeopardizing the mission because of _Yarok_? That’s insane! “But I didn’t _do_ anything! He’s the one who—”

“Your protests fall upon deaf ears,” Kolivan tells me. He points at the door back to Red. “You will go.”

“This is a mistake,” I tell him as I turn to leave.

He's as unmoved as a statue. “The mistake is yours.”

Xxxxx

I don't know how to feel. 

Coran welcomes me back when I return to the Castleship with Red. His cheerful face appears on my monitor as I fly in to land. "Finished with your mission already?" he asks.

"Change of plans," I tell him. "I'm not going after all."

"Well, what delightful news! The others will be so glad to hear," he says.

"Yeah," I tell him, not really listening.

I don't know where to go. I don't feel like talking to anyone. But I don't feel like being alone. 

I don't know how fake-Shiro started being the answer to my problems, but this is where I am in life. I let down my guard for long enough to feel okay about myself, and reality boots me in the ass. Or maybe I booted _myself_ in the ass. I don't even know. I trudge to the infirmary, feeling like I'm doing the walk of shame in my Marmora suit. 

I get stopped by someone in the corridor before I get there. It’s Allura. I'm kind of glad it's her and kind of not. She has a bundle of white material in her arms. She frowns when she sees me.

“Keith? I thought you were on a mission with the Blade of Marmora,” she says.

“Change of plans,” I tell her.

“Excellent!” she says, breaking into a smile. “You can be in the air show today!”

“I— what?”

“Everyone was so disappointed that we wouldn’t be able to show Voltron to the crowd, especially Coran,” she says, “and although Shiro insisted four lions would be impressive enough—”

“Oh, right,” I sigh. “ _That_ air show.”

“I know you’re not thrilled with the direction the Voltron Coalition has taken,” she says. “You _are_ Galra, after all, and they're generally not fun-loving people. But saving the universe is not about doing what we want as individuals. It takes _sacrifice_.”

“I understand that. But I’m more _useful_ doing something I’m good at. Me performing spectacles for the masses is like,” something Shiro said to me pops into my head, “an amoeba trying to be a god.”

“What is an amoeba?” she asks.

I sigh, feeling exhausted. “It doesn’t matter. I just—I’m doing my best. I’m _trying_ to do my best. But what's the _point_? It's never been enough, and it's never _going_ to be."

"If this is about the Altean shuttle, I've already forgiven you," she says. "I knew I was wrong to insist upon sending Voltron to investigate. It's just as Shiro said—I could not help but hope. You may be... _abrasive_ at times, but I know you did the best you could. And you will today, too, in the air show."

"But I _can’t_ be something I’m not," I tell her. "And that seems to be the only thing anyone wants from me anymore."

“We’re not asking you to be someone you’re not, Keith. We want you to be _exactly_ who you are. Just... _in an air show!_ ” She looks so hopeful, like that’s something I could really do.

“I’m bad at being me,” I tell her.

“Then you’re trying too hard,” she pronounces. “Have you never heard the old adage? _Being yourself is as natural as a snorplox nesting in a biljig thicket_.”

“You’re a good person, Allura,” I tell her, “but snorploxes aren’t part-Galra hybrids who can’t get along with their own kind.”

“Well, technically, they _are_ part Galra, since they’re originally from planet Daibazaal,” she says. “And they _never_ get along with their own kind. That’s why they bear their young in venomous thorn bushes!”

The idea of nesting in a venomous bush has a strange appeal. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell her.

She gives me a fond look, but it slips off her face. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She holds up the material in her arms. It’s paladin armor, but in pink. “Do you think it would be terribly gauche of me to wear this? On Altea, we wear this color to honor our fallen warriors, but I would not want it to detract from the true paladins.”

“I think that would be great,” I tell her.

“And do you think... it would look alright on me? Not like I’m playing dress up?" She gives me a searching look.

I blink at her.

“I asked Pidge,” she tells me, “but all she did was give me a funny look and say, _They’re clothes_. And then she went back to looking at that video of her brother. And I _do_ hope she finds him—she has some new clue about his whereabouts, something about a rare metal, but—”

“Allura,” I interrupt.

She clutches the armor to her chest and presses her lips together.

“You’ll do great,” I tell her. “They really are just clothes.”

Her face breaks into a smile, and she looks like she’s going to hug me. I hold up a hand to stop her. “Have you seen Shiro?” I ask, trying to cover it. I’m doing my best to be leader-like, but I really can’t do hugs right now. Not from her, anyway. “I need to talk to him.”

“Oh!” she says. “Right, to let him know you can be in the air show! I think he and the other paladins are in the kitchen eating something called... waffles? Does that sound right?”

"Yeah. Exactly right." And to be sure I don't sound dismissive or something, I add, "Thanks."

"You are very welcome, Keith. You have truly boosted my confidence," she says. "I was unsure when Shiro named you his successor, but now I think I understand."

"Second in command," I correct. "Not successor."

She nods. "Of course. Second in command. How silly of me."

I wave abstractly and walk away.

Xxxxx 

I don't know what to do or how to feel, but I do remember anger. I take it out and dust it off and throw it like a cold drink in Shiro's face.

“Just—I _knew_ this was going to happen," I rant, raking my fingers through my hair. "It happens _every_ time!”

Shiro nods, unfazed. “Okay.” He’s leaning against the kitchen table holding a cup of something resembling coffee. The others were here when I came in, but I yelled _Get out!_ at the top of my lungs, and they hightailed it. I guess they put two and two together and came up with three paladins staying in one piece.

“I told Yarok right off the bat so there wouldn’t be any confusion. I _told_ him! He said he understood. He said was _fine_ with it,” I bite out. “And now he’s throwing the whole thing in my face, like it’s my fault!”

Shiro frowns, setting down his coffee substitute. “What is this, now? Does this have to do with your mission?”

“I told Yarok. I _told_ him!” I repeat, throwing my arms wide in entreaty. “Like a responsible adult! I told him the _first time_ I didn’t have feelings for him! And I was never gonna _get_ feelings for him!”

“That does sound like the responsible thing to do,” Shiro agrees.

“And the whole ship knew—he flat out _told_ them!—so now I guess every single Blade member there hates my guts. I’m not welcome anymore. Kolivan made me _leave_!” I spit. “And I didn’t even _do_ anything! I kept up my end of the bargain! It’s _completely_ unfair!”

“I can see you’re very upset about this, Keith, but I’m not really sure what you mean,” he says. “Maybe if you explain the situation to me, I can do something to help.”

“Like _what_?” I demand. "What could you _possibly_ do?"

I don’t even know why I’m telling him this. It’s pointless. It probably is my fault. It’s _always_ my fault. I slam a frustrated hand down on the table. “ _Damn_ it! I don’t understand what’s _wrong_ with me! Why do I keep doing this when I already know what will happen? Isn’t that the definition of insanity? Doing the exact same thing over and over and expecting a different result?”

“I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding. Why don’t you sit down, and we can talk it out?” He pulls out a chair for me.

I shake my head, wishing I could bang it against something. I don't sit. I _can't_. “This is the worst part. It’s just... _humiliating_ having to explain it. To _you_ , of all people. I _hate_ it! But this could screw up the whole war effort. It already messed up one mission... Kolivan took someone else. If he decides to be angry at all of Team Voltron... if they're _all_ angry...”

Shiro asks, “Angry about what, Keith?”

I’m so ashamed, I could cry. I feel my face heat up and bite my lip to stop it.

Shiro’s hand is on my shoulder, and he guides me down to the chair. There’s no way I can escape now. I’m stuck.

“Keith. Talk to me," Shiro says, voice gentle. "What’s going on, buddy?”

I'm an idiot, and I hate myself. There’s nothing I can do but say it. I swallow hard. “I’m sleeping with Yarok. I mean, I _was_. For... a few months, I don't know. It didn’t mean anything. It was _just sex_. He wasn’t my boyfriend. I _told_ him that. He agreed. I wouldn’t have kept doing it if he hadn’t. But then he went completely _nuts_ and...”

“Wanted something more?” Shiro supplies.

“He tried to give me his dead dad’s special knife! And I told him no—even though it was a _really nice_ knife and would’ve fit perfectly in my boot and I would’ve _really liked_ to have it—and then he...” I sigh, not sure how to explain the rest.

“He took umbrage with that?” Shiro asks.

“He started asking these... these _favors_. Special things he wanted me to let him do to me. Using Galra words that didn’t make any sense. And when I said _No_ ," I say, feeling like I'm jumbling things up because my head is such a mess, "he got _so_ upset. He told me we were such a good match, and I obviously _cared_ for him, so why was I denying it? It was the worst _possible_ position to put me in because... the actual _position_ we were in was... in his bed, and he was... and I just...”

“And you just...?” Shiro's hand is still against my back. The look on his face is unreadable, and I know I’ve let him down. I knew before I opened my mouth.

“I really do _like_ him, Shiro,” I say, pleading, as though it will help. As though it will make either of us feel any better about anything. “As a training partner. As a person. As a _friend_ , even. He’s not some random hookup whose name I won’t remember tomorrow. Or didn’t know in the first place. Though that would’ve been easier.”

“Is... that a common thing for you?” he asks. “Random hookups?”

I shrug and tell him, “Yeah.” Because what’s the point of denying it? Will adding a bunch of _ifs_ and _buts_ to my laundry list of meaningless sexual encounters really make me look better? Those are all just excuses.

Still, it makes me want to puke.

“I’m not judging you, Keith,” Shiro says.

“Maybe you should,” I tell him.

He starts rubbing my back again but doesn’t say anything.

I swallow hard. I can't stand this. “It didn’t _hurt_ anyone. Hooking up is painless. It doesn’t involve _feelings_. I don't _have_ feelings. That’s why I did it. And I made it clear with Yarok that what we were doing didn’t involve feelings either. There was no special meaning behind it. But it didn't do any good."

“I understand that. What worries me is that you regret your actions," Shiro tells me. He slides down into a chair beside me. His hand grips my shoulder in a steadying sort of way. "You’re doing something that makes you unhappy, and you recognize that but continue doing it. That sort of behavior is self-destructive.”

I bite my lip. I can't look at him. “Look, it’s not some sort of... psychodrama. It’s not a coping method. I wasn’t molested as a child or anything. I went through some rough fosters, but nothing like that. I swear, I’m not messed up that way.”

Shiro nods like he maybe believes me. “Then what do you think it is?”

I shrug hopelessly and stare at my hands. “I get really _horny_.”

The room is silent. 

Then Shiro laughs. I look up at him, and he has this sort of funny expression on his face, and I'm _so_ relieved he's not upset. “That’s completely normal, Keith," he tells me. "A lot of people feel that way at your age. There’s no reason to be ashamed.”

“I’m not ashamed. It’s not that," I tell him, weirdly embarrassed that I gave him that impression. "Maybe it would be better if I was. I feel good when I do it. I mean, my _body_ does. The rest of me doesn’t."

“What does that mean, Keith? _The rest of you_?” he asks.

“Dunno. I mean, it’s like...” I think about what I mean, how I can explain it. I'm bad at putting this stuff into words. I frown and press my lips together and fuss with my Marmora gloves. I shift against my chair. I think _really_ hard about Yarok and all the others and how things always turn out, and come up with something I shouldn’t say. Something I shouldn't even _think_. Something I buried and swore I'd never dig up. Something that makes me sick. 

Shiro’s not going to like it. I say it anyway. I have to. “It’s like the Kerberos Mission.”

Shiro stares. His expression is stony. “Sex is like the Kerberos Mission.”

I chew my bottom lip. I don’t want to say it. I swallow down the lump in my throat. I don't have a choice. “Yeah. It’s... exciting when it starts, and it feels like you could really accomplish something. Like there’s all this _possibility_ , you know?" My throat closes off, and I have to swallow again and take a breath. My ears start to buzz. "But in the end, there’s this... this _newsflash_ that says _pilot error_ , and you realize all the hype was just empty promises nobody can ever make good on. It's all _ruined_. And you wish it never happened.”

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs.

“I wish it _never_ _happened!_ ” I blurt out. I hate it. My chest aches. My vision's blurring, going dark at the edges, but I can’t stop the words from coming. “Voltron and Zarkon and being a Galra and saving the universe, and... _everything_! I wish it was just the two of us back at the Garrison dreaming about flying to outer space, and maybe some day being together and never having to leave. Why did everything have to go so _wrong_? Why couldn’t things make _sense_ for once?”

Shiro looks like he might cry. His bottom lip is trembling.

I have never seen Shiro cry.

I fight back tears, but it’s a losing battle. The enormity of my life implodes like a collapsing star. The gravity overwhelms me, sucking me into the blackness. I cover my face with my hands.

Shiro pulls me close and wraps his arms around me. I bury my face against his chest and sob until I hiccup.

Shiro lets me.

I cry and I cry until his shirt is wet and sticking to his skin. Until I don’t have any tears left to cry. And Shiro just lets me. He holds me and lets me cry.

No one's ever done that for me before.

When it's over, when the tears have run themselves dry, I feel wrung out and exhausted but somehow better.

I rub at my swollen eyes, wiping the wet off my cheeks, and Shiro cradles me against his chest, his Galra arm wrapped around me. I run my fingers over it and wonder what it feels like to him. What it feels like to _be_ him. To live a complete existence in his body, in his mind, in everything that makes Shiro _Shiro_.

“It’s okay,” Shiro says, voice gentle. His human fingers brush through my hair. “I'm here now. Everything is going to be okay.”

“This is everything I ever wanted,” I tell him. I press a hand to his chest. “Just this.”

“Okay,” he tells me. “This is okay.”

“I just wanna be together and never have to leave,” I say. I'm tearing up again, and I don't even know where the tears are coming from. I thought I was done.

“I know,” he says. "It's okay."

I sniff and wipe my face on his shirt and don’t even care that I’m getting snot all over him.

“Unless the lions decide they want new pilots, I don’t think either of us is leaving anytime soon,” he says. His voice is quiet but steady. His touch is gentle.

“Yeah,” I agree. "Guess not."

“You know, I, ah,” he clears his throat. “I got you a rock.”

I wipe my nose on the back of my hand. “A rock?”

“From Kerberos. The first time we got samples, before we went to the surface. There were some rocks, probably debris from an asteroid, and I put one aside for you," he says. "As a gift.”

My eyes fill up again. My voice wavers. “You were gonna give me a _Kerberos_ rock?”

He shrugs and pulls back so he can look me in the eye. His face is blotchy. He gives me an off-kilter smile. “Well, I couldn’t find anyplace selling _My best friend went to outer space and all I got was this lousy t-shirt_ souvenirs, so...”

I snort a laugh and wipe at my eyes. “That is _horrible_ ," I sniff. "That's your lamest joke yet.”

“Is it that bad?” he asks, looking pleased.

“Worse,” I tell him. I smooth down the wet part of his shirt where I cried into it. “You’re fired.”

He puts his hand on mine to hold it still. It rests over his heart. “So I’m not your best friend anymore?”

I tip against him so my head lies against his shoulder like a toddler who needs a nap. “Think again. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Believe me, I’m not trying to,” he says. He threads his fingers between mine and squeezes my hand.

“I didn’t cry,” I tell him, looking at the way our fingers intertwine. I give his hand a gentle squeeze. It's too bad we're wearing gloves. “Not back then. Everyone was talking in whispers and the news reports were blaring that you were never coming back, and I just... I knew it was going to happen. I _knew_. Because everyone leaves. My mom, my dad, any friends I ever made in foster before I got yanked and tossed at another family... I just thought, _Of course. Of course he left you, too. He was always going to leave you._ ”

“I didn’t know,” Shiro says. His thumb rubs over mine. “I had no idea what they’d say. I wish I could’ve done something to prepare you.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault except the Galra. What was the Garrison supposed to say? The truth?” I ask, entirely rhetorically. “Mechanical malfunction makes it sound like Command did something wrong. Lowers recruit numbers. Human error is easier to swallow.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any less responsible. I spent a year behind bars on Zarkon's ship second-guessing every decision I ever made, but not preparing you was the one I regretted most," he says. "I had nightmares over it. I still do sometimes. I wake up screaming not remembering where I am. If only we'd devised some sort of code or sign...”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done. I wouldn’t have believed anything Garrison Command said,” I tell him, trying to sound comforting. I hate that he's upset. “I doubt I’d have even heard it. I stopped listening. I stopped _everything_ , really. You wouldn’t be proud of the way I acted.”

“We all make the wrong call sometimes, Keith," he says, giving my hand another squeeze. "But it's over now. Everything's out in the open, and we both need to stop beating ourselves up over it. We need to put it behind us.”

I shrug even though he's right. “I’m just so disgusted with myself. I can only imagine what you went through, and here _I_ was, acting like a brat and getting kicked out of school.”

“If I ever hear anyone say anything like that about you, I will personally teach them a lesson,” he says. “I’m already mentally preparing it.”

“Will you make them take notes?” I ask.

“No, but I will present them with several pie charts,” he says. “And possibly a Venn diagram or two.”

“What will that look like?” I ask. “Median number of people Keith pissed off daily, by rank? Places Keith self-destructed and their proximity to the Blue Lion? Number of sexual solicitations he accepted plotted against the amount of alcohol he’s had?”

“That last one sounds like a scatter plot,” he says.

I snort. “More like a cluster fuck.”

“I was thinking,” he says, broadly sidestepping, “something more like, _Reasons not to alienate your most talented pilot in a generation._ ”

“ _Alien_ ate,” I repeat, and collapse against him in defeat. “The bad jokes just _keep_ coming.”

Shiro puts his arms around me. He hugs me tight. He has to let go of my hand to do it, but that's alright. "Thanks, Keith. I needed this. I've needed it for a long time. I wish I could've been as honest about it as you were. I really owe you."

I wish he wouldn't thank me. He doesn't owe me anything. It's not fair with everything he does for me that I'd get some sort of credit. I don't deserve it. I don't even know why he'd want to be friends with me, to tell the truth. Not that I'm _complaining_. I'm just such a mess.

Speaking of a mess...

"Hey, Shiro?" I say.

"Hmm?"

I press my forehead against his shoulder. “I messed up bigtime with Yarok, didn't I?” 

"Yeah," he says. "Pretty bigtime."

I suck on my bottom lip. "I've gotta fix things, don't I?"

“I’m afraid so,” he says. “Pilot error.”

“Alien abduction,” I correct. I wrap my arms around his chest. He's so warm.

He gives me a little squeeze and points out, “ _We’re_ the aliens here, Keith.”

I shake my head. “ _You’re_ the alien. I’m Galra.”

He chuckles. “You make a good point.”

“Yarok is... he’s really nice. You’d like him,” I tell Shiro. “Everyone _likes_ him. I just don’t _love_ him.”

He nods. “But he thought you did.”

I press my cheek against Shiro's neck, breathe in the scent of him, and sigh. “He thought I did.”

"Okay," Shiro says. He lets go of me, ruffles my hair, and picks up his fake coffee. His expression is all business. "Let's fix this together."

Two hours later, he's helped me come up with a plan. It involves people skills and talking things out and a heartfelt apology. It requires being humble, having patience, and saying I'm sorry even if the whole thing was completely _not_ my fault. 

"Thanks. I hate it," I tell him. 

"You don't need to like it. It just needs to work," he says. "You'll do _great_. And if he feels anything like what he says he does for you, I guarantee he'll forgive you."

"I'll settle for him not completely despising me," I tell him. "And not destroying the Blade of Marmora's alliance with Voltron."

"I really don't think he despises you, Keith," Shiro says. "It's only natural that he's put up defenses. He's hurt, and wounded animals lash out in self-defense."

"I'll tell him you called him a wounded animal," I say.

"Please don't," he tells me.

"I hate it," I repeat. "It goes against everything I believe in. But I'm doing it."

I'm doing it.

But first, I have to do an air show.

_Damn_ it!


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

I make the visit in my paladin armor. I don't want it to look like I'm making assumptions. I leave my helmet in Red so I don't seem threatening. Again, no assumptions.

I’m stopped at the door to the airlock by the same tailed Blade member who walked in on me and Yarok in the elevator. It's weird that I recognize him now. I've never seen him with his mask off. I still don't know his name.

“You are not welcome here,” he tells me.

“I need to talk to Kolivan," I say. "Is he back from the mission?”

"You are not welcome here," he repeats.

“I _know_ that,” I tell him. “That’s what I need to talk to him about. I’m trying to make things right.”

His body language doesn't make it look like he believes me, but he leads me inside anyway. Peace is a priority for these people. That's why the universe needs them so much.

Kolivan sits on an enormous seat in the control room in his full Blade of Marmora getup. His hood is up, with his braid draped like a war medal over his chest. His broad back is turned to the display screen. Behind him, a planet I've never seen twists too quickly around an alien sun. Framed by the display, Kolivan's seat is raised up from the floor. The way the room is laid out, I walk up to him like a cosmic beggar approaching a king.

“I believe I told you that you are not welcome,” he says. His voice is expressionless.

“I want to make things right with Yarok,” I tell him. “I... hurt him. I didn’t mean to.”

“Do you think I believe that?” Kolivan asks.

_I’m not a mind reader_ , I don’t reply. “I don’t know what you believe,” I tell him, “but I’m not lying.”

I can't see his eyes narrow behind his mask, but I can sense it. “What do you hope to accomplish by coming here?” he demands.

“I just told you,” I say, doing my best to keep my cool. _Patience yields focus_. “To make things right.”

Kolivan tilts his chin. The unruly planet spins behind him. “In what way?”

“I... don’t know what that means,” I admit. When Shiro and I went over this, incomprehensible answers didn't factor in. I don't know what to do with what Kolivan's giving me here.

“Do you believe he should take you back after the way you treated him?” he asks.

“I don’t want him to take me back,” I tell him. “I mean, that's impossible. He never had me in the first place.”

I said the wrong thing. I can hear Kolivan's sneer in his voice. “You request to be reinstated among our ranks, and _this_ is the attitude you come with!”

My temper flares. I try to douse it but can't. “Look, I don’t know what Yarok told you, but I never made him any promises. I didn’t commit to anything. I told him flat out I didn’t love him and never would. If you don't believe me, ask him how I explained what _catch feelings_ means.”

Kolivan considers this for a minute. “And did your actions reflect these statements?”

“What does that _mean_?” I plead. My question is met with silence. I stare at him, and the silence stretches. 

It pisses me off. 

I snap. “What do you _want_ from me? A signed affidavit? I’m not giving you private details, if that’s what you’re after. You want _sex tips_ , ask Yarok. He seems to like telling everyone all about what he does to me when he gets me to himself. He's pretty proud of how good he is at it.”

Kolivan's still motionless, but I sense a flare of anger answering me. It’s fleeting, the barest aggressive twitch of thick muscle, but it's there. Kolivan tamps it down. “By what leave do you speak to me so crudely?”

This is not how I wanted this conversation to go. _Swallow your pride_ , Shiro said. _Be humble_. Like it's so damn easy! Even with my former low simmer of anger turned off, it doesn't mean I'm bullshit-tolerant. And if I've learned anything in my life, it's how to get people to push me away. How to be dismissed.

I have to be better than this.

"Look, I just wanna apologize to Yarok for hurting him, okay? Even though I _still_ don’t get what I did wrong." Shit, I was not supposed to say that last part. This is bad. _Take the blame, Keith!_ "If I could take the whole thing back so it never happened, I would. But I _can’t_. I don’t wanna get back with him. I don’t want his dad’s knife, even though it's a _really nice_ knife. And I don’t wanna get all moony about sticking things up places I've never heard of and can’t even _pronounce_. Is that so complicated?”

Yeah, I was _really_ not supposed to say that. Shit.

“Do you know what I am to him?” Kolivan asks.

I sag in frustration. “Why doesn’t anything you say today make sense?”

Kolivan's mask flickers out, and he looks down at me with hardened eyes. He tells me, “Yarok is my son.”

“I— What?” I shake my head in confusion. “He said his father was dead.”

Kolivan nods solemnly. “Yes. He was a fellow Blade member. He was killed during a mission. It was a tragic loss for both the Blade of Marmora," his voice is slow and cautious, "and for me, personally. I was nearly seven months along. We had that very day decided upon a name.”

I gape. “But—You—“

“I am Yarok’s mother,” he says.

Everything I thought I knew about the universe and my place in it slips away. The room is upended. The rogue planet spins off its axis. Stars crack and fill with darkness. I am an unfilled vessel cast into the blackness of the void.

“Perhaps this explains _certain places you can’t pronounce_ ,” he suggests.

“I— _What?_ ” I splutter.

“I will take the blame for your lack of understanding," he says. "I was tasked with educating you about your people, and I took that to mean training you in the ways of the Blade of Marmora. I see that I was negligent in other aspects. I assumed that you were aware of your anatomical situation. I see now that this was not the case."

I stare at him. 

"You and my impulsive son have not done anything unadvisable, have you?" he asks.

I keep staring.

He rises from his celestial throne, muscle shifting, and approaches me. I shouldn't let him get this close. If he decides to attack, I'm in no condition to defend myself. But I just stand and watch him come, my boots glued to the floor.

A foot in front of me, he stops. He bends down and sniffs my neck. "You smell ripe," he says. Yarok used that word, _ripe_. I thought it was a euphemism. "You have not been vomiting? No difficulties with defecation?"

I have to blink a few times before I can answer. I shake my head. The rooms spins, and I have to blink again to bring it back into focus. "No."

"This is fortunate," he says. "You will wait here."

He leaves me standing alone in the control room. There's a guard outside the door, probably the one who met me at the airlock, but he doesn't come in. If I wanted to, I could take over the whole ship. It's a massive security risk.

I guess that means I'm forgiven...?

I don't know how long I stand there, numb and uncomprehending and alone. 

When Kolivan comes back, he hands me a cup of something steaming. I'm still standing in the same place trying to make sense of myself. "Drink this," he says.

It's orange. I sniff it. It smells like cinnamon. "What is it?"

He doesn't answer.

I guess if he wanted to kill me, he'd have done it already. I wouldn't have offered any resistance. I drink. The aftertaste is slightly medicinal but not bad. I'd choose it over nunvill any day.

The door slides open, and Yarok comes into the control room. He goes as stiff as his Mohawk when he sees me. I feel like I should feel something looking at him, but I don't.

Kolivan takes the empty cup from my hand. "You will come to a mutually acceptable agreement as to the terms of your separation before leaving this room. No one else will enter unless arbitration is called for. If such an agreement cannot be reached, the decision will be made by unarmed combat." He strides to the door. "You have twelve hours. Begin."

The door slides shut behind him.

I turn to Yarok. 

He stares at me.

"Decision by _combat_?" I say. "Seriously?"

He shrugs. "Mother is stern."

"No kidding," I tell him. 

"You would not _believe_ the punishments I had as a child," he says. He crosses his arms and sticks out his scarred bottom lip. "I once had to dig a hole exactly six ploks square and fill it with liquid zatox to prove that its volume did _not_ increase exponentially to its temperature increase in a high gravity environment. All because I didn't finish my damned _homework_."

The look on his face is so funny—so completely disgusted with his lot in life—that I can't help smiling. "It sounds like you had a great childhood. I would've killed to have someone around who cared enough about me to make me dig holes to prove a point."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Me too," I say. "About everything." And surprisingly, I mean it. 

I told Shiro I'd say it, but I didn't expect to mean it.

Yarok sighs and wanders to the controls. He presses a few buttons, and our view changes to that of an unidentifiable spacescape. It's a lot more peaceful. "Mother told me you aren't here to make up," he tells me. "And that you weren't aware you were a—" He finishes with a Galra word I can guess the meaning of. 

"Yeah," I tell him.

"Nearly all of us are," he says. "Even hybrids. How did you not _realize_?"

"But you have women," I insist. He gives me a blank look, and I say, "You know, _lady_ Galra?"

"I hardly see what gender has to do with it," he says.

I don't even want to know what he's talking about. I tell him, "Well, I guess I know now."

He heaves a sigh and rubs at his temple. "If you didn't know, then why all of the _cues_? Why the obvious _mating_ prompts?"

My jaw drops. "The _what_?" 

"Do you mean to tell me that you _presented_ to me the very first time we were intimate by _chance_?" he demands. "That the coy little games you played over condoms were _accidental_? That you _inadvertently_ performed the shared—" Galra sex word "—with me in an elevator with _no_ _knowledge_ of its suggestive... you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

I guess the look on my face clued him in. "I was just doing what felt good. I didn't know any of it _meant_ anything." 

He shakes his head in disbelief. "So humans just... _do_ this sort of thing? For _fun_?"

I shrug. "Uh... yeah?"

He frowns in thought. "But why should that matter? Do you not see how good we are together? How good we _could be_ together? Why end things so soon?"

"First of all, I didn't know I'd started things," I tell him. "I told you from the beginning I wasn't looking for a commitment."

"But of course you did. Modesty dictates such behavior," he says, like it's obvious. "It would be unseemly for you to throw yourself at me so soon after our formal introduction. And given your higher status as a paladin, it would have been improper for you to press. I might have felt obligated."

"It wasn't modesty," I tell him. "And I don't know what status has to do with it. I really didn't want a relationship with you. _Don't_ want a relationship with you."

"But..." he runs his fingers through his hair, "why not? Where is the logic? Surely you don't believe that just any partner could provide you the companionship I can. If you had only allowed me to complete the—" gibberish Galra word "—you would have seen how right it was."

"I wouldn't have, Yarok," I tell him.

This upsets him more than I expect. He crosses his arms and hugs himself and shakes his head. His face contorts into a series of emotions I can't name. "But—but you were so _open_ for me! You nearly drew my _fingers_ in! And you're so small, you could have taken in half— _more_ than half!—the _pinnacle_ of pleasure for us both! Do you understand how much you would have inundated me by the time I reached my end, how _bursting_ I would have been? Do you have any idea how _complete_ I could have made you?"

"It doesn't matter," I tell him, half horrified and half turned on. "You have feelings for me. I _don't_ have feelings for you. Things aren't going to magically work out just because the sex is incredible."

He raises an eyebrow. "Do you really think it was incredible?"

I want to smack myself. "Don't be stupid. You know it was. But it was _just sex_. Not a relationship."

"We could still try," he urges. His hips shift. His eyes take on a predatory gleam. "We have nearly twelve hours. I could show you. You will change your mind."

"I'm not going to change my mind," I tell him. I can't help but admire the way the muscle in his abdomen flexes. His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. It looks nice. "And we can't have sex because..."

Wait, why can't we have sex again? 

"You took the medicine, didn't you?" he asks. "You're perfectly safe. There is nothing to worry about. I can show you—"

"That's a bad idea," I tell him. Though I'm not sure I believe it.

"Only imagine, Keith," he says. "I will open you just as I did before. I will spend hours if you need it. I will make your—" crazy Galra word "—blossom under my touch. And when your body calls to mine so clearly that you can no longer resist, I will enter you with untold sweetness. I will give you _exactly_ what you crave, so deep and so hot, until we both call out our pleasure to the universe. And when I soften and you close, you will be _packed full_ for hours. Your eggs will _drown_ in it! Keith, you will be in moonglow ecstasies _over_ and _over_!"

I shouldn't have listened to that. I should've stopped him. Because _drowning my eggs_ makes me want to hack myself open and strangle myself with my own intestines. But it also makes me want to strip off my armor and beg Yarok to do it to me. Do every word of it. 

Have him finger me until I'm begging. Squeeze my eyes shut and moan as his cock enters me and erases all thought of anything else. Make it so the whole world is our bodies moving together as one. Because I know it would be just as good as he says. I know I'd scream. I know I'd have moonglow ecstasies—whatever the hell _those_ are—just like he says. I want it so bad, I can taste him on my tongue, the too-sweet gush of him as he pumps into me. 

I groan and press at the sides of my head. "We _can't_ , Yarok! I told you!"

"But you _want_ to!" He steps up beside me and takes my hand.

I look at his skin against the glove of my paladin armor, the deep purple against black. I twist our wrists to look at the claws. I think of all the possibilities I'm being offered. I think of what they mean to me.

I pull my hand away. "Yeah, okay? Yeah, I _want_ to. But I'm not going to because I'm not _in love_ with you. You wanna be loved. I _get_ it. Who doesn't want that? But I'm not what you're looking for. I can't give that to you."

"But... in time..." he pleads.

"Not in a _million years_. I don't feel things like that," I insist. "Why do I have to keep going over this?"

"Because you are making it so _difficult_!" he exclaims. His forehead creases, and he makes a frustrated gesture. "Is having _nothing_ better than having _me_? Am I truly so undesirable that you would rather be alone than be mine?" 

"That's not fair. My options aren't _you_ or _loneliness_. You're trying to make it black and white, and it's not." He looks at me like I'm being dense, and my temper flares. "Oh, and by the way, thanks for getting me booted off my first mission and _banned from the ship_. Nothing pleads your case for true love better than a good ostracism."

"I did not decide that," he tells me. "The others did when they heard what happened."

"Well, thanks for sticking up for me," I retort. 

"I was heartbroken!" he insists.

"You were a _shitty_ friend!" I shoot back.

" _You_ were a shitty boyfriend!" he snaps.

"I _wasn't your boyfriend_!"

His face screws up like he's in agony. He turns in a circle and clutches at his head. "Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this to _us_?"

"Yarok, there is no _us_!" I exclaim. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"You don't understand," he says, pressing a hand over his eyes. "You don't know what this means to me. If you did, you would never say such a thing. Keith, I have wanted you since the moment I saw you. I knew that the universe had plans for us. I felt it in the depths of my being. I was _struck_ by your very existence. I cannot explain the impression you made upon me!"

"Yeah, we worked well together training. I'm not denying it," I say.

He shakes his head. "Before the training. When you came here for the trials. I have thought of nothing but you since then. I swear it on my life!"

"That was..." I think for a second, "that was half a _year_ ago, Yarok. Before we defeated Zarkon.”

"I know. So, you see, I have felt it for so very long. I have... _yearned_ for you. When Mother announced that you would be training with us, I volunteered immediately to tutor you in combat. There are others just as qualified as I. Some more qualified—I am still very young."

I never would've guessed. I remember that he recognized me, and that I didn't recognize him, but to think that he felt that way from the beginning? That he specifically requested to train me? And Kolivan knew the whole time. I think back to my dinner that introduced me to wasp larvae, and all the teasing Yarok got for the attention he paid me. Everyone must've known. 

I feel so stupid.

"Then why was I the one to make the first move?" I demand. "If you knew about all these _plans_ the universe had for us, why didn't you approach me?"

Yarok's eyes go wide. "I was nervous. You are a paladin of Voltron! It's very intimidating!"

"You kept calling me _little_ ," I remind him.

"Well," he says, with a shrug of his shoulders, "you're also very cute. Adorable, to tell the truth. Do you know how difficult it is to find that quality in a Galra?"

Cute? _Adorable?_ "If this is your plan to win me over, you're barking up the wrong tree," I tell him.

He gives me a baffled look. "Barking?"

This is absolute torture. I never thought I'd find something I hated more than parades, but lucky me, I found it. 

_Patience yields focus. Calm the fuck down, Keith._ "Okay, so I really need to get out of this room," I tell him. "I'm not going to date you. We're not boyfriends. Can we settle on this so I can leave?"

"Does nothing I say mean anything to you?" Yarok pleads. His hands flutter near his chest in desperation. "Are you so hardhearted that you cannot find it within yourself to even try? To even attempt to envision a life together?"

"Yeah," I tell him. "I am."

“But this is impossible to believe! I—Is... there someone else?” he asks. “Someone you’d rather be with? Is that why you would so callously reject me?”

“Yarok...” I start.

His eyes are red, and his nose is running. He wipes at it with the back of his hand. He bites at his bottom lip. It’s trembling. He looks so...

...pathetic.

In his Blade suit, he’s almost eight feet tall, made of solid muscle, with strong hands that end in claws. His teeth could rip a hole in my throat. He knows more than your average planetary population about weaponry, could cut a grape cleanly in half with a toss of his knife, could snap a neck with a flick of his wrist. And he’s standing here crying because, what? I don’t want to play kissy-face with him?

Maybe I had second thoughts for a minute when I first saw him. And I had a lot of numbers of thoughts when he was talking about the sex stuff. I feel like moonglow ecstasies might be something like multiple orgasms—it _sounds_ like multiple orgasms, doesn't it?—and I would really, _really_ like to give that a try.

But seeing him like this... it’s repulsive. I can’t believe I bared my ass for this guy. And to think of being in a _relationship_ with him? He’s not someone who can support me, or someone who understands me, or someone I can see a future with. He’s not anything I want anything to do with at all. He's nothing to me.

I just... can’t.

“Yeah,” I tell him. Because what could it hurt? “There’s someone I’d rather be with.”

He blinks imploringly at me. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Really.” Why the hell not?

“Oh. Well... that makes sense. Of course that’s why,” he gives a teary laugh and runs his hands through his hair. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

Because I am a terrible liar. “I didn’t think it would help.” And I didn’t think of it. 

“And he is your..." Yarok clears his throat, trying to calm himself, "you’ve expressed your intentions to him?”

“Uh, no. Not exactly,” I tell him, thinking fast. "I... haven't thought of a way to say it." I’ve never had much of an imagination, and trying to invent a love interest is a strain on my abilities.

“Did the two of you just meet? Is that why it’s so sudden?” he asks.

"I... I’m not actually...”

As I think of this imaginary person, what tale I could invent, I realize he isn’t so imaginary after all. It’s not romantic or sexual, or anything else people say it’s supposed to be, but it’s true. Because I would rather be with someone. 

I’d rather be with Shiro.

“I’ve... known him for a long time. And he means a lot to me. He.... he’s everything to me," I say. "I count on him so much that... I can’t tell him. I _couldn’t_.”

Yarok's jaw drops. “What? Why not?”

I shrug, feeling self-conscious. “What if he rejected me? What if he said, _Thanks, but I don’t feel that way_? What if he laughed? What if he said he never wanted to see me again and he wished he never met me?”

Yarok throws me a look. “In other words, what if he treated you the way you’re treating me?”

It stings. It’s not like that at all. But I’m here to make peace. I shake my head. “No way. He wouldn’t do that. He’s a million times nicer than I am. He’s the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

“Yet you’re still afraid of rejection.” He says it like a fact. He says it like a challenge.

“Yeah. I’m still afraid of rejection.” So sue me.

He shakes his head. “So much for the _brave_ little paladin.”

“Look, you have no idea what you’re talking about," I snap. "You don’t know me, and you _sure_ don’t know him!”

“Of course I do," he says. "I know exactly who it is. Is it not obvious? Your social circle isn't exactly wide. There are only four other paladins, and it's clear which one it must be.”

I don’t know how he knows this. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’s just testing me. Am I supposed to deny it? “Say anything to anyone, and I’ll kill you,” I tell him. It's fine. I'll explain it to Shiro. He'll understand.

Yarok snorts. “Idle threats. We both know you won’t.”

“Okay, fine," I concede, wanting to kill him right now. "I’ll tell everyone I broke it off with you because you’re terrible in bed.”

He gapes. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me,” I warn.

He shakes his head like he's sad. "You're making a mistake, Keith. He could not possibly care for you as I do. You're exposing yourself to a doubtful alliance and the possibility of failure. Why risk everything for this human's affection when I have already guaranteed you mine?"

_What the hell do you think I'm risking?_ I don't say. "I'll take the risk." 

He sighs. “I suppose there's honor in my lot. There's no way one such as I could compete with a paladin of Voltron. No one will look down on me for losing out to such a person. Though it is a shame. I could have given you such worthy children."

For the sake of my sanity, I pretend I don't hear that last part. “Okay, are we done here? Because I’m leaving. I have to _leave_ ," I tell him. "Can I go now without having to fight someone?"

Yarok steps up to me and wraps his arms around me. It's so unexpected, I don't even react. I just stand there. "I'm sorry, Keith. I see that your mind is made up. I will guard my heart for you for one decaphebe. When that time has passed, I will consider the offer null and void, with my affections open to give to another."

"You don't need to do that," I tell him, "but if it makes you happy, I'm satisfied with it."

"Until we meet again," he says. "You have broken my heart, but I see that you are an honorable Galra. May you have happiness in your endeavors."

I feel like I should feel bad. Like I should feel sorry about not feeling any love for someone who so clearly wants nothing more in life than to make me happy. You don't meet a lot of people like that. You should try to hold them close. You should regret letting them go. 

But I don't. I don't feel anything at all.

I nod. "Until we meet again." 

Which I hope will be never.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for all the crap Lance gets this chapter, but Keith really doesn't.

CHAPTER 14

When I get to the Castleship, Lance is waiting for me. He's in his street clothes and not his armor, and I'm immediately suspicious. 

"Hey," he says. 

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Wow, prickly much?" he says. "No _Fancy seeing you here, Lance!_ or _How was your day, Lance?_ or even _To what do I owe the pleasure of_ —"

"Look, I've had a really _crap_ day," I interrupt, "and I'm running seriously low on patience. So I'm asking before this comes to blows: What do you want?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Shiro sent me. He wants us to get along better. Be buddies or whatever."

I blink at him.

He heaves a sigh. "I'm trying _super_ hard, okay? I _really_ want to be your second in command! But it's like the instant I open my mouth, all I do is piss you off. I talk about mermaids? No interest. Video games? Crickets. And if I even _mention_ your Marmorite boyfrie—"

" _Lance_ ," I warn.

He rolls his eyes. " _Fine._ Shiro needs you. The guy in the cryo pod is awake."

I bolt for the infirmary.

Xxxxx

_Awake_ is maybe too strong of a word for it. Fake-Shiro is out of the cryo pod, but he's lying on a bed staring blankly at the ceiling. Shiro, Hunk, Pidge, and Allura are crowded around him, while Coran checks readings on a monitor nearby. Fake-Shiro's steady heartbeat shows in a familiar pattern on the display, but Coran's face is grim.

Shiro raises concerned eyes to me. I let him know with a nod that everything went alright. He nods back.

"Keith, good, you're here," Allura says.

"I'm here, too!" Lance announces as he lopes in behind me. "Which, I think we can all agree, is the important thing."

"What's going on?" I ask.

"The cryo pod opened, and our guest passed out on the floor. There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with him, but he's been like this," she gestures toward his motionless body, "ever since. It's been nearly an hour."

Lance waves his hand in front of fake-Shiro's face, asks loudly if anyone's home, and shrugs. "Guess he's not going to be much of a threat after all. Looks like his head's completely empty."

_Takes one to know one_ , I don't say. I'm supposed to be supportive. _Build up, not break down_ , Shiro said _._ It's so easy to forget with Lance.

I join the others around the bed and look down at the man lying on it. He looks so helpless. It reminds me of finding Shiro in the Garrison's emergency tent after he crash-landed in his escape from the Galra. Seeing a man I expected to be a stranger strapped to the bed and turning his face and thinking, _Shiro...!_ The memory sends a sick feeling through me.

"Could we put him back in the pod?" Hunk is asking. "Give him a little more time? Maybe he's like a soufflé or something, and he didn't bake for long enough to rise."

"Maybe he's still cold inside like a frozen space burrito," Lance suggests.

"Oh, good call, Lance!" Hunk tells him.

"I'm afraid not," Coran tells them. "The cryo pod would only release him if it had done all it's capable of doing. Unfortunately, I'm not sure it was enough. His readings are… not looking good."

As much as I didn't want this guy here, this feels like such a waste. I don't know what the Galra did to him. Maybe he was okay before they got their hands on him. Maybe he wasn't anything at all, and they cooked him up in some laboratory. But lying here looking like, if the universe was different, he could be someone and something… it's just a shame.

Allura is telling Pidge about Altean custom when it comes to people who can no longer live without some sort of machine keeping them alive, and it makes me so sad.

I touch my fingertips to fake-Shiro's cheek.

"Hey," I tell him. "You can wake up now. You're safe here. It's okay."

Nothing happens.

A hand presses to my shoulder, and without looking, I know it's Shiro's. "Come on Keith. There's nothing we can do here. Let's go." His eyes look the way I know mine must. His lips quirk in a sad smile.

As I turn, I take one last look back at the man on the bed.

He's staring at me.

"Oh _jeez_ , he's moving!" Hunk exclaims and bowls Pidge over in an effort to get away.

The man on the bed groans and blinks up at the faces staring down at him. His eyes flick from face to face—Lance, Allura, Pidge, Shiro, and a cowering Hunk—and then back to me. "Who are you?" he asks me, in Shiro's voice.

I don't have the breath in my lungs to answer.

The man on the bed frowns and asks, "Who am _I_?"

"That's what we've been wondering," Shiro tells him. "You were being held by the Galra when we rescued you. Can you tell us anything about what happened to you?"

"What is a _Galra_?" he asks.

Shiro and I exchange a look.

"Can you tell us what you were doing before we found you?" he asks. "Or what you were doing before you were captured?"

The man looks at him blankly.

"Do you not remember anything at all?" Allura asks. "Nothing of your life before you arrived here?"

He shakes his head. Then he looks at me. "But I feel like… I know you? Or maybe…" He tries to pull himself up but collapses back down against the mattress. I offer him a hand and help pull him up. He sits on the edge of the bed staring at his cybernetic hand clasping mine. I pull out of his grasp, and he holds his arm up like he's never seen it before and doesn't understand what it is.

"It's okay," I tell him. "It doesn't matter."

He looks up at me. His eyes are filled with confusion. "Why does that man have one, too?" He tips his head toward Shiro.

Shiro and I share another look.

I ask the man, "Do you recognize him?"

He shakes his head.

"Okay, this is officially weird," Hunk announces. I guess he's decided our guest doesn't mean him immediate harm because he's stopped trying to use Pidge as a human shield. "Not only does Shiro's hippie twin not recognize any of us, but he doesn't even know what he looks like."

"Yeah," agrees Lance. "And he's being friendly with _Keith_ , of all people! There's _definitely_ something wrong with this guy's brain."

"Cool it, Lance," Shiro warns.

"Hey, Keith is the one who wanted to toss him off the ship!" Lance insists.

I shoot him a look but bite my tongue.

"We're on a ship?" the man says. 

"This is the Castleship of Princess Allura of Altea," Pidge says, gesturing toward Allura. She gives the man her friendliest smile. "The guy at the monitor over there is Coran. The rest of us are the paladins of Voltron, sworn to protect the universe from the threat of the evil Galra Empire. I'm Pidge. This is Lance, Hunk, Keith, and our leader, Shiro."

He blinks at her. " _Shiro_ means _white_. How do I know that?"

"We're not quite sure, but we'll work it out eventually," Shiro tells him. "In the meantime, is there anything you need from us?"

The man looks at us, then around the room at the infirmary's alien architecture. His eyes rest on the cryo pod he just came out of and then turn down to look at himself. His human fingers tug at the white medical suit. "Maybe some real clothes," he says.

Shiro smiles. "That can be arranged. Are you hungry?"

He shakes his head.

Shiro nods. "In that case, we'll get you your own room so you can settle in, and when you're ready, we can give you a tour—"

"Whoa," I say. "We can't just let him _roam around_. We still don't know who he is or why the Galra had him."

"Gotta agree with Keith here," says Hunk. "Our new friend seems nice and all, but this whole thing is smelling really fishy. I don't trust the Galra tech he's carrying around."

Pidge nods. "We know it's not communicating with the Galra, but that doesn't mean they didn't program it with instructions to harm us. If it's integrated into his system as well as Shiro says, we could be talking manipulation on the genetic level. A bioengineered sleeper agent. He might not even be aware it's affecting him until it's too late."

"Be that as it may," Allura says, "we do not imprison guests. As long as we restrict his access to vital systems, I see no danger in giving him his freedom."

"It wouldn't be difficult to put a tracker on him," Coran adds. "I'm sure Pidge and Hunk could rig it up in a jiffy."

"No," the man in question says. He shakes his head and pushes his tangled hair away from his face. "No, Keith is right. You can't leave me free if there's a chance I could hurt someone. That's the last thing I'd want."

Of course he would say something like that. After all, whether he knows it or not, on some level, he _is_ Shiro. Some things are unchangeable. Some things just _are_.

"We could put surveillance on his room and lock the door unless one of us overrides it," Pidge offers. "That way he'd at least be comfortable. Though if he's truly identical to Shiro, neither of them would be able to open it. I'll have to run some tests to confirm it."

"I still think we should try taking the arm off," Lance says. "No freaky Galra arm, no problem!"

"What about the Blade of Marmora?" I ask the group. "If they're familiar enough with the tech, they might be able to disconnect it from his system and remove it."

"Do you think they'd be willing?" Shiro asks. I nod, not wanting to say more in front of the others.

"Good," says Allura. "I'll go to the Control Deck and unlock one of the rooms in the guest wing for him. Pidge and Hunk can look at the systems with me. Shiro, if you'd like to take our guest to his room? The door will be open by the time you get there."

"Could Keith take me?" the man on the medical bed asks. 

Shiro and I look at each other. I shrug.

"Of course. Keith will take our guest to his room. I'll contact the Blade of Marmora and then find him some clothes," Shiro says. "I'm sure I have a few things in my closet that will work."

"Hey, what's my job?" Lance asks.

Coran says, "You get to help me clean his cryo pod!"

Lance's face falls. "Not _again_!" 

He's a little unsteady on his feet, but once our guest gets to the elevator, he's gotten the hang of walking. He's quiet, looking around him with undisguised interest at the alien surroundings. When the elevator door opens, I gesture for him to go in first, and he smiles.

I don't see any reason to dislike him. Not the way he is now, anyway. I anticipated the worst, but so far, reality's been kind. I can totally handle this. Though I do have one problem.

"What should we call you?" I ask him.

He looks at me. 

"You kind of need a name," I tell him. "I've been calling you _fake-Shiro_ in my head, but now that just seems rude."

He ponders this for a minute. The elevator door opens, and we walk out into the corridor leading to the guest wing. It's not really a wing. It's just a long hallway sandwiched between levels. I guess calling it a wing makes it sound fancier. 

"Shiro's _white_ , so how about a different color?" he asks. 

"Most of the basic colors are already taken by the lions," I tell him. 

"I don't know what that means," he admits.

I explain to him about the lions and how they work together to form Voltron. I'm careful not to tell him anything that could be used against us if he turns out to be a pawn for the Galra. By the time I finish, we're at the open door of the room Allura prepped for him. He walks in slowly and looks over every inch.

"This is nice," he says. "I'll be comfortable here."

"The bathroom's through there," I tell him, pointing to the door on the other side of the room. He looks at me for a second and then goes to the door. It whooshes open. He stands on the threshold and peers inside. 

"My _god_ ," he says, and takes a step back.

I approach the open door with my hand on my knife. In the back of my mind, I identify points of attack and escape routes. It's likely no one's been in here for 10,000 years. That's a long time to mothball a room. Who knows what could be inside.

But the only thing I see is a floor-to-ceiling mirror. He's staring at his own reflection.

Wide-eyed, he runs a palm over his stubbly chin. His hand goes to the scar on his nose, and his fingertips trace it, a look of confusion on his face. It turns to a frown of distaste as he pulls his snarled hair back. 

"Why can't I remember…?" he murmurs.

I don't know how to answer that. So I tell him, "I'm sure there's a brush in there somewhere."

He looks at my smaller reflection beside his in the mirror. The red markings and glowing accents of my paladin armor stand out against the white we're both clothed in. His face is unreadable.

I stand in the doorway to keep the door from sliding shut behind him. He opens a few doors and drawers and comes back with a stiff-bristled brush. It looks like the one in my closet I don't use. "I'm sorry," he tells me. "I didn't mean to make you stand around and wait for my personal grooming. You just seem familiar to me, somehow. Maybe I'm imagining it."

"It's fine," I tell him. "Shiro will be by with some clothes pretty soon."

He nods and begins the attack on his hair. 

I've never seen Shiro with long hair. I never actually thought about the fact that it grows. Even when he was a prisoner of the Galra, they kept it trimmed so he looked good for his gladiatorial battles. At least that's what I assume. We've never talked about it. Maybe I should ask him if he wants to.

Our guest shifts on his feet, and I realize I'm staring. I cross my arms and lean against the doorjamb. I look around the guest room to give him some privacy, but there's not much to see. It's similar to our paladin rooms but a little nicer. The bathroom is bigger and has a separate basin you can run water into for a bath. I wonder how the legendary Defenders of the Universe got the short end of the stick on that one. 

It occurs to me that as Black Paladin, Zarkon once slept in Shiro's room. In his _bed_. I don't know why I never thought of it before. The idea of Zarkon making his home here weirds me out.

The still-nameless man beside me makes a noise of frustration. He has the brush caught in the tangles of his hair, and his hands are shaking too hard to pull it out. Even the Galra one seems out of control. 

"Here," I say, and step into the bathroom. The look on his face is killing me. "Let me get it." 

I ease the bristles out of his dark snarls. Grabbing a handful, I try working the brush through it, but it's tougher than I expected. He's so much taller than me, I can't see what I'm doing. I keep yanking his neck back. "Let's sit down," I tell him.

When Shiro shows up, I've got the man seated on the edge of the bed, and I'm on my knees behind him giving his hair one last pass through. The staticky ends curl against my fingers. 

Shiro stops in the doorway and stares. "That is not what I expected to walk in on."

I run my fingers through the man's hair and pull it back from his face. My fingertips skim the warmth of his cheek. "Good," I tell Shiro. "You brought the clothes."

He's thrown for a second by my answer but then holds up the neat stack of clothing as evidence. "Thank you for waiting so patiently. I was busy getting chewed out by a certain Blade leader for not speaking up sooner about our visitor." 

"Wow, he's on a roll today. I got an earful, too," I tell him. 

"Ouch," he says.

"Tell me about it," I agree.

"Good news, though: he thinks they can help with the arm. Cybernetic body parts are fairly common among the Galra, and unless this one is something completely out of the box, they should be able to deactivate and detach it. I'll give you the details later on," Shiro says. He holds the clothes out to our guest. "I'm guessing you want these."

The man next to me on the bed stands. The sheets where he was sitting are wrinkled. The hairbrush beside my knee has matted strands of his hair stuck in it. I press a glowing button beside the bed and stow it in the drawer that pops out so I don't have to look at it.

Shiro hands the clothes over, to a murmured _thank you_. On top is a pair of boots he has to arrange because our guest's hands aren't steady enough to balance everything. The black material looks ominous against the whitened knuckles of his human hand as he clutches the clothes too tightly to his chest. There's something about seeing the two men standing next to each other like this that sends a shiver up my spine. 

Shiro watches after our guest as he walks to the bathroom. The door slides shut behind him, and I hope he's alright alone. I wonder if I should've gone in with him. But before I can react, Shiro strides over and pulls me up into a crushing hug. "Thank you, Keith," he murmurs. "That was _perfect._ "

I sigh in relief and wrap my arms around him. He's warm and solid and everything I needed. My life is so out of control right now, but at least I got this right. "No problem."

We stand there for a minute in companionable silence, until Shiro pulls away. I guess he had to eventually, but I wish he didn't.

You think I'd be reconciled to that fact by now.

"So everything's okay?" Shiro asks.

"I don't think he's faking it," I tell him, free to say it now that we're alone. "Either his memory's been tampered with or he has amnesia. Or he never had any memories to begin with."

"I don't mean him. I mean with you and Yarok." He raises an eyebrow. "And... Kolivan, apparently? He didn't mention it to me."

I shrug. "Long story, but it's over. We settled things. It was… I'm still processing it."

"That's completely understandable. That was a huge task to tackle on your own," he says, with a supportive squeeze of my shoulder. 

I bite my lip, trying to judge what I can cover before our guest comes back out. Not nearly enough. I want the story out now, so Shiro can flip over all the pieces and find the shiny spots. “Kolivan locked Yarok and me in a room together until we worked things out. The tiebreaker was one-on-one combat.”

“That’s... pretty hardcore,” Shiro says.

“He’s Yarok’s mom,” I tell him.

He says, “He's what, now?”

“Kolivan. Is Yarok’s mom. As in, _gave birth to him_ ,” I explain. "I'm guessing that's why he was so angry."

He blinks for a minute, digesting it. “Huh.”

“Galra are..." I fumble for the words in a sudden wave of self-consciousness. "They have both. _We_ have both.”

Shiro's speechless for a minute. Then he shakes his head like he's knocking the cobwebs out of it. “Galaxy Garrison really needs to beef up its selection process.”

“I know, right?” I smile, relieved at his response. “If some guy with a freaky alien uterus can get in, imagine what other riffraff slipped through the cracks."

"Scandalous," he agrees. He pauses for a minute, tallying everything I've said, and adds, "But I don't think it's a good precedent to call your body _freaky_. I'm sure it's perfectly normal for a... you know... whatever you happen to be."

"That was an unconvincing pep talk," I tell him.

"Yeah," he says, wincing. "Gotta work on that one."

"If it's any consolation, I don't think you'll need it for the other paladins," I tell him.

He's about to answer with something I deeply hope is a dig on Lance when the bathroom door slides open. Our guest walks out wearing pants identical to Shiro's but a short-sleeved shirt with a high-necked vest over it. He's pulled his hair back into a messy but functional ponytail.

"Everything fit alright?" Shiro asks. For politeness' sake, I guess.

The man rubs the fingers of his Galra arm against the bare skin of his opposite elbow. He looks Shiro up and down and then looks at me. "I'm not crazy," he says. "At least, I don't _think_ I am."

"That's not what any of us think, either," Shiro assures him.

"What _do_ you think?" he asks. "I need to know what's happening to me."

"I'm afraid we don't have enough information to come to any sort of conclusion at this point," Shiro says. "But we don't believe you're a danger to yourself or anyone else."

The man turns to me. "And what do _you_ think?"

Shiro sighs. 

"I think you're a clone of Shiro created by the Galra to infiltrate our ranks and betray us to Zarkon. But Zarkon's down for the count, and the project got scrapped," I say. Then I remember the number of fighters coming out of the battle cruiser we found him in and add, "Or maybe we found you before they could complete the process. That would explain why you don't have any memories. They haven't put them there yet."

He nods. "That makes sense. Thanks for not sugarcoating it."

"Keith doesn't understand the purpose of sugarcoating," Shiro tells him.

"It's genetic," I remind him.

"Alternately," Shiro says, since explaining my heritage probably isn't the best idea right now, "you could be from a different reality. The Galra have been aware for millennia of the existence of multiple realities. It's no stretch to think they may have found one and taken you from it. We just don't know why."

"And what are these Galra?" he asks.

"Tall purple guys with fuzzy ears who are trying to destroy the universe," I tell him, for simplicity's sake. And, I mean, it's not _wrong_.

He shakes his head. Taking the few steps to the bed, he drops back down onto the edge of it. "I feel like I would remember people like that."

"Memory can be a tricky thing," Shiro tells him. "Repressing it is part of the body's defense to help us cope. In time, it may come back to you. But if it doesn't, that's not necessarily a bad thing."

The man looks down at his hands. They're shaking. He flexes them and squeezes them into fists, but it doesn't help. "I hadn't thought of it that way," he says. And then, "Thank you again for the clothes."

Shiro nods. "My pleasure." He looks around the room, but I can't tell if he's making sure it's a suitable living space or thinking of something else to say. Maybe both. He clears his throat. "Well, I imagine you could use some rest."

"Oh," the man says. "That... would be good." His hands tremble against his thighs.

"I can stay," I tell him. "Until you fall asleep."

The amount of relief on his face when he looks up at me makes me feel a little guilty. I knew we shouldn't leave him alone, but I was going to do it anyway so I could talk to Shiro. That was bad.

"Okay," Shiro says in a tone that makes it sound final. "Sleep well. When you wake up, call Allura on the comm unit by the door, and we'll bring you whatever you need. I'll catch up with you later, Keith."

"Yeah," I say. "I have some stuff to tell you."

The other man's eyes follow Shiro's back until the door closes behind him, then drop to the floor.

"We never chose a name for you," I tell him, to break the silence. "If we don't, someone else will. Probably Lance. And I don't think you'll like what he comes up with."

"I don't know," he says. "I can't really think clearly. I have this... strange headache."

"Does the name Takashi sound familiar?" I ask.

He shakes his head. Breathing a sigh, he lies back on the bed. "I should sleep. I'm tired."

"Don't worry," I tell him. "We'll get that arm taken care of as soon as we can. Then we can let you out of here."

"Thank you," he tells me, and closes his eyes.

Of course he doesn't have a blanket, so I get one out of the closet and throw it over him. He blinks up at me with an expression I can't read.

"Sleep," I tell him. 

I sit down beside his bed like I did the time Shiro had that nightmare. It's a little more comfortable when I'm not sopping wet. It doesn't take a minute for the man to fall asleep. His mouth drops open, and his head tips sideways onto the mattress. I search his features for some clue about what he's doing here, but I come up as blank as his memory.

When his breathing deepens and I'm sure I won't wake him by getting up, I leave to find Shiro.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as it turns out, all-dialogue chapters are not that fun to edit! (Note to self: please don't do this again no matter how much you want to make your NaNo word count.) Also, I'm coming up on the portion of this story that was really sketchy during the writing process, and I'm going to be fleshing it out quite a bit more, especially the parts with Kuron. This may take more than a week per chapter. I don't use Tumblr much, but if I'm going to be particularly late posting, I'll make a note of it there so everyone knows I'm not dead in a ditch somewhere. As always, thanks for reading!!

CHAPTER 15

I find Shiro in the infirmary. He’s on his knees in the recently-emptied cryo pod with a scouring machine in his hand, polishing the inside of the plexi. He told me once that putting things in order puts him at ease. If he's wrestling with a problem he can't fix, he fixes a different problem. He doesn't hear the sound of my boots on the steps.

"You get demoted while I was gone?” I ask.

“The legendary Black Paladin of Voltron: saving the universe one janitorial job at a time," he says. His smile could light entire star systems.

"Better you than me," I tell him, reflecting the smile like a distant moon. "But I thought Lance and Coran were taking care of it."

"They're working on something for Kolivan," he tells me. "He wants to take some extra security measures when he comes to meet our guest. As advanced as the technology is in the Castle, it _is_ 10,000 years old."

"And Lance is helping with this how?" I ask.

He says with extreme seriousness, "Moral support." 

I roll my eyes.

Taking one last swipe at the pod, Shiro sets the cleaner aside and stands. He dusts his hands off on his pants. "You weren't with our guest long. Did he settle in alright?"

"Out like a light before I even got myself situated. I tried to get him to pick a name so we'd have something to call him, but no luck," I tell him. "I suggested Takashi, and he didn't recognize it." 

Shiro comes down the steps to join me at the center of the room, where the controls form a natural gathering point in the gray and black vastness of the space. "We've gotten a lot of new names lately, haven't we? Slav, Ryner, Lotor..." he raises an eyebrow, "Yarok..."

"I'm trying to look on the bright side of the whole thing," I tell Shiro, grateful he's broached the subject. "But all I see is a mess."

"Well, I'm sure we can work together to find some positives to take away from the experience," he says, just like I knew he would. "How did Yarok react to seeing you again?"

I sigh and lean back against the control console. "He was hurt. But he... _could've_ been angry. It turns out I was giving him all these _cues_ I didn't even know about. He legitimately thought we were in some sort of _relationship_. I'd be angry if someone made _me_ think that and then told me it was all in my head." Though that's not really true. I'd never think that. If someone flat-out said, _I can never love you_ , I'd believe them. I'm too reasonable for that kind of drama, too logical. 

Too cold.

"It's very good that you can empathize with him," Shiro tells me. "That's hard for anyone in this situation, and I know it's doubly hard for you. You've always been caught between two worlds."

"I'm not saying I'm thrilled with him," I note. "I mean, I _told_ him. And I lost a friend because he didn't believe me. We _both_ did."

"But you've grown from the experience, haven't you?" Shiro says. "Learned more about yourself?"

I think about it for a minute. "I guess so. And I'm not knocked up, at least."

Shiro makes a kind of squeaking noise in the back of his throat. 

"Yeah," I say, feeling his pain. "And I probably _would_ be if Yarok hadn't been careful. I didn't know I had anything to worry about, so..."

"Okay," Shiro manages. "That's... that was good of him. He took care of you."

I cringe remembering how many times I told him not to bother with a condom. Stupid. "He could've let it happen. It would've been easy to pretend it was what I wanted. I mean, I'm not completely clear on the mechanics, but the things I was asking him for—the things that felt really _good_ when he was inside me—"

"That's... maybe a little too much information, Keith," Shiro interrupts.

I guess I should be embarrassed. But I feel so distant from that part of it now, it's almost like it happened to someone else. Like it didn’t happen at all. "I'm just saying he's not a bad guy," I tell him. "I wish things could've been different, that's all."

"You know, it wouldn't be wrong to take a step back and reassess the situation," Shiro says. He rests an elbow against the controls, and his arm brushes mine. "This is big stuff. It's okay to change your mind. You could always talk to him once you've both cooled down. Maybe start things out fresh?"

"The thought crossed my mind," I tell Shiro. "But mind-blowing sex isn't a good enough reason to be with someone you don't see a future with. Thinking he's a good guy isn't the same as wanting to build a life with him. There needs to be more than that. Right?"

"If that's how you feel, I think you've made a wise decision," he agrees. He's looking at me with this expression I don't understand. I don't dislike it. I just don't know what it is. 

I fuss with my paladin gloves so I don't have to look him in the eye. "It's just... frustrating. He had all these reasons why things would work out if I just gave it time. Part of me wanted it to be true, you know? Part of me thought... how great would it be to be someone who was... _cherished_ that way? And to feel the same about him?"

"Keith, there's no reason you can't have someone like that," Shiro tells me. I haven't looked up, and most of what I see of him is from the waist down. The toes of his boots edge closer to me. "Maybe Yarok isn't the right one, but if that's something you want, I know you could make it happen."

I bite at my lip. "I told you already. I don't want a boyfriend."

"You don't want one," he asks, "or you think you can't have one?"

I shrug. "Is there a difference?

"There's a _huge_ difference," he says.

"Why want something I can't have? It's a waste of time," I tell him. "Love is a fairytale. It doesn't happen for real. Not for me."

"Keith, you're only eighteen," Shiro points out. His voice is gentle. "That's kind of young to give up on love."

I want to tell him I haven't given up. It's not like that. But _happily ever after_ is all part of the fairytale. Only little kids think that's reality. When they find out it's all made up, just like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, they stop believing. I didn't _give_ up; I just _grew_ up.

"While Yarok was trying to convince me to be with him, he started getting upset. Begging and crying and stuff. Acting really desperate. I didn't feel bad, though. I didn't even _care_." I wasn't embarrassed to talk to Shiro about having hermaphroditic alien sex, but I get queasy telling him about this. I'm not sure why. "It's like he was confusing me with someone else, because I felt zero connection with what he was saying. It didn't even register. I was just staring at him with this feeling of... hollowness. Like he was pouring all this feeling into me, but there's a vacuum where my heart should be. Just... nothing."

"It's not your fault if you don't have feelings for him," he tells me. "You can't force yourself to feel something for someone. No one can."

"I _know_ that. But this is _always_ how it is when this sort of thing happens," I insist. "Whenever I try to connect with someone, I regret it. It's like we're in different planes of existence that never meet. We're running parallel to each other, and we see each other across the void, but that's the closest it gets. I don't know why I even bother anymore."

"Not everyone is compatible," Shiro says. "You just haven't found your person yet. It'll happen."

I don't know why it upsets me so much that he doesn't understand. But it chokes me up. I want to curl up into a ball and cover my ears. I want to beat the walls with my fists and scream like a child. Maybe because if Shiro doesn't understand, no one will. 

And maybe there's nothing there to understand. I'm not capable of these feelings everyone else has. I'm not like them. I'm not human, I'm not Galra, I'm just broken. 

I press my fingers to my eyes. They prickle with tears. 

"Keith," Shiro says, and reaches out to me. The palm of his Galra hand presses against my shoulder.

"Don't," I tell him, pulling away. "You're just making it worse."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Don't _apologize_!" I snap. "I hate it when you apologize, like you _owe_ me something. You don't owe me anything!"

Shiro sighs. "Keith, buddy, what is going _on_?"

"Just—Why does it have to be so _complicated_? Why can't you just find someone you want to be with, and just—just _be_ with them?" I demand, wiping angrily at my eyes. "Why do you have to _feel_ all these things? It's not enough to be happy. You have to be _in love_ and _attracted_ and—what does that even _mean_?"

"Attraction?" Shiro says. "Are you asking me what _attraction_ means?"

"Yes!" I exclaim. "Like, I see someone and they look so nice I wanna strip naked for them? They're so pretty I wanna _watch_ them while they do me? Where's the connection? Why would that even _happen_?"

He shakes his head like he doesn't get it. "You're not attracted to Yarok?"

"I like _looking_ at him," I say. "He has cool hair and cat teeth. But what does that matter? A lot of people look nice. Even _Lance_ looks nice, and I'd rather get it on with a king cobra than _him_. Can you imagine what it would be like? I'd end up smothering him with a pillow."

"I can safely say I've never imagined what it would be like to have sex with Lance," Shiro tells me.

"Which is _normal_ , right? You don't have to reason through it. I do," I run a hand through my hair to center my thoughts. I have to get this all out, or it's going to eat me alive. It's _been_ eating me alive. "Yarok says that when he first saw me, he was _struck_ by me. Way back when I did the Trials of Marmora."

A funny looks crosses Shiro's face. "He’s saying it was love at first sight?"

I shrug. “I always thought that was made up. Some kind of Hollywood hoax. It’s not, is it?”

“Definitely not,” he says. “But it’s okay to not feel it. It takes a while for some people. Not everyone is the same.”

“But they are! Everyone but _me_! Look, I know you think I’m being dense. Like I’m _inventing_ it all—just saying it for _attention_ or something." That's what they said about me in foster. Wrote it down in my records. _Attention-seeking behavior._ It always pissed me off. "I'm _not_."

"Well, but you _are_ looking for attention," Shiro tells me. "Why else would you be saying these things? Why would anyone say _anything_? And why would that be a bad thing?"

I stare.

Shiro slides gentle hands around my upper arms and turns me toward him. He dips one shoulder and tilts his head to the side so we're the same height. His tuft of white hair falls in front of his right eye. "Keith, there's nothing wrong with needing someone's attention. You're not a bad person for wanting to be heard, for wanting your needs to be met. What you feel—or _don't_ feel—is an important part of your personal experience, and anyone who tells you otherwise is being unfair. Your experiences are valid. You have every right to seek attention about them."

"But no one's _hearing_ me," I tell him, miserably. 

"I am, Keith," he says. "I'm listening. Help me understand."

"I'm just so _tired_ of it," I say. "I try _so hard_ , and I just... Maybe I don't wanna be like this. You know? I’ve been alone my _whole life_. But no matter what I do, no one wants the real me. They want this image they have in their head that isn’t reality. I'm _never_ good enough. Even my mom—"

I have to stop because saying it is too much. _Thinking_ it is too much.

Shiro steps in close. His palms rub at the back of my arms. “Even your mom _what_ , buddy?"

I press the heel of my palm against my forehead. "I always thought she abandoned me, you know. But what if it wasn’t that way? What if she _knew_ how I'd be? She _knew_ I was a waste of time, I was _messed up_ from the start. And it broke her heart. What if she _did_ love me? But I'm this unfeeling _monster_ , and she couldn't live with that. She went and started a new life and had _better_ kids somewhere else. Kids she could love. Kids who could love _her_."

"That is not true, and you know it," Shiro soothes. "I'm sure your mom had her reasons, good or bad, but her leaving is on _her_ , not you. You were just a baby—she didn’t even know you. Your personality wasn't formed yet. Your mom leaving _wasn’t_ your fault. Okay?"

I press a hand to my mouth, swallow back a sob, and ask, "Then why do I feel so _empty_?"

“Come here,” Shiro says, and guides me over to the steps. He sits and pulls me into his lap. His fingers stroke the hair back from my cheek. “I know you have a lot of love in your heart, Keith. You would give your _life_ for any member of this team. If that’s not the ultimate form of love, I don’t know what is. You are not _messed up_. You are different, and that makes you special. Okay?"

He lets me sit there for I don't know how long. I don't think of anything. My mind isn't really working. Things are happening, there's a _war_ going on and people's lives _depend_ on me, and I'm just sitting here, on the steps of the infirmary of a 10,00-year-old Altean ship, with Shiro's arms around me. 

And maybe that's okay for now. Maybe I'm okay.

"Feeling a little better?" Shiro asks when the overwhelmingness has seeped out of me.

"Yeah," I tell him. If Shiro says my mom leaving wasn't my fault, I believe him. I _trust_ him.

He ruffles my hair. It makes me smile. "Good. Now, I'm wondering if you could explain something to me. Tell me if it's too much, okay?"

"Okay," I agree.

"You were talking earlier about the kind of relationship you would have if you could," he tells me. "About just being with someone without all the complications. Why don’t you tell me more about that?”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because I want to hear," he says. "It’s important to you, right?"

I nod weakly. "I can't explain it, though. It's too hypothetical."

"Well," he says, "it sounds to me like you're looking for someone who's a really good friend. That seems like the most important thing to you. Am I right?"

“He wouldn’t just be a friend, though. He’d be more than that," I tell him. "You said before, I haven't found my person yet. That's what he'd be—my _person_. Just _like_ a boyfriend, but... with his pants still on.”

Shiro laughs at that. I like how it makes his chest shake against me. “Okay. We’ll keep the discussion PG-rated, then.”

“Maybe PG-13,” I tell him. “I’m not a nun.”

He gives me a squeeze. "Alright. So everyone keeps their pants on. What else do they do? What kind of connection do you have with your person?"

I shrug. "Dunno. We'd just... be there for each other. Do stuff together. Talk about stuff."

"The kind of stuff you talked about with Yarok?" Shiro asks.

I roll my eyes. "I didn't _talk_ to Yarok. He's not that sort of guy."

"Alright. Let's leave Yarok out of this, then," he suggests. "He's no longer a part of this conversation. What sort of things do you and your person do?"

"Eat together. Train. Relax after a long day." I shrug. "Just normal stuff."

"Make really bad jokes?" Shiro asks.

I smile. "Yeah. Terrible ones. So he doesn't realize I don't have a sense of humor."

"I bet he'd think you have a great sense of humor," Shiro says.

"Then he'd have terrible taste," I tell him.

"Okay, terrible taste." Shiro nods, very falsely serious. "That's a good attribute to know about."

I snort a laugh. "He'd _have_ to have terrible taste if he wanted to be with _me_."

"No negatives," Shiro corrects. "Don't get down on yourself. Let's just look at positive things. What about candlelight dinners? Flowers?"

"Ugh," I groan. "I thought you said _positive things_."

He laughs and rubs my back. It feels good. "What about other romantically-coded things? Love letters? Poems? Little gifts that mean something to you?"

"I would puke if he wrote me a love letter," I tell him. "But presents aren't bad. I probably wouldn't know what to give him in return, though, so maybe not."

"You don't necessarily have to give something in return. Affection's not a tit-for-tat sort of thing," he says.

"No way. I'd want it to be fair. We'd be equals," I tell him. "We'd take care of each other."

"What if he didn't want stuff—material things—from you?" Shiro asks. "What if he just wanted time? And, say... cuddling?"

"That word is so _cutesy_ ," I tell him, wrinkling my nose. "We'd have to call it something else."

"Alright," Shiro chuckles. "How about sitting on his lap and letting him hold you?"

A weird little thrill goes through me. I shift against Shiro's lap. "Seems okay."

"And what about... let's say," he muses, "the two of you get back really tired from a mission. Or you're up really late planning the next attack. You're both exhausted but want to talk."

"Sounds pretty likely," I mutter. My face feels warm.

"What if you didn't want to go to your own rooms?" he asks. "What if you wanted to stay together for the night?"

"I _told_ you you could sleep on top of me," I remind him. "You're the one who left."

It's only after I've said it that I realize I made the leap to thinking it's him. Bad jokes and strong arms around me any time I want, not with some nameless person, but with _Shiro_. Shiro as my _person_. It's surreal.

Is he thinking the same thing? Is that what this is about?

Is that what it's _always_ been about?

"Okay," he tells me, and I feel lightheaded. "I'm going to ask something that might be uncomfortable. Is that alright?"

"More uncomfortable than you elbowing me with your Galra arm in your sleep?" I ask, feeling vague and weightless. I'm a leaf floating on top of a pond that's one raindrop away from being sucked into a wet grave. 

"Is that a joke?" Shiro asks.

"A terrible one," I tell him.

"My favorite kind," he says. "What about kissing?"

It takes me a minute to process this. It's a lot. I'm torn between thinking about kissing some random, hypothetical person and kissing Shiro. 

Oh my god, I'm _thinking about kissing Shiro_.

The silence stretches. 

And I remember what I said to Yarok. About Shiro. 

Oh, shit.

I jump up out of Shiro's lap. "Um, Shiro? I kind of have to tell you something."

"Okay," he says. He's sitting on the steps looking up at me with a confused expression on his face.

"I know we said we weren't gonna talk about Yarok anymore," I start.

"It's fine," he tells me. "Talk about what you need to talk about."

I nod and take a deep breath. "So I was kind of getting desperate to get away from him today. I mean, he was talking about me _bearing his children_."

Shiro gapes up at me. 

"Right. That's exactly what _I_ thought," I explain. "And he wouldn't believe anything I told him about why I didn't want to be with him. So I might've... given him the impression I was in love with you?"

Shiro moves his mouth, but nothing comes out.

"But like I said, I don't have feelings like that," I assure him. "I don't even know what _being in love_ means. But I'm guessing it's gonna come up. I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on."

Shiro's silent for another moment, and then his confusion shifts into a soft smile. "Thanks for the heads-up."

I nod and swallow down the lump in my throat. "Kissing's okay."

He blinks.

"As long as everyone's pants stay on, I'm fine with it. I actually kind of think," I shrug, my face flaming, "it can be nice sometimes."

He nods. His dark eyes are wide.

Reaching out, I brush the hair back off his forehead and blend the white with the dark. The thin lines there from worry and stress make my heart ache. I wonder if I’m the cause of any of them. I bet I am. I run my fingertips across them.

Shiro smiles in the most tender way. He takes my hand in his.

I lean over and press a kiss to his forehead.

When I look back in his eyes, he's tearing up.

My stomach drops. “Why are _you_ crying now?”

He wipes at his eyes and gives me the biggest, most heartfelt smile. “You’re just so _sweet_!”

I hated it when Yarok called me that. I didn’t feel sweetness toward Yarok. With Shiro, it’s so different. “I always wanted to be sweet,” I tell him.

He pulls me into a hug. 

"I want to be your _person_ , Keith," he says. "And I want you to be mine. Can we make that happen?"

I smile and fold in against him. I press my cheek to his neck. He's so warm. “How long have you been wanting to say something like that to me?”

“A long time,” he says, and rests a hand against the base of my neck. His thumb rubs gently against my skin. “But I couldn't get a read on whether you'd want something with me."

"It's probably the _being-an-alien_ thing. It confuses people," I tell him. I'm so happy, I feel like my heart could burst. "And by _alien_ , I mean you. _You_ are an alien."

He laughs. "I think you're right."

"When I'm not right, though, I want you to tell me." I pull back so I can look him in the eye. I smooth my palms over his broad shoulders. "Don't get all soft on me just because you're my person. I'd hate that."

"So is that a yes?" he asks.

I roll my eyes and pull him close. "How could it not be a _yes_?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! The past two weeks have been hands-down the craziest weeks of my life. As always, I don't have a beta, so if you see any errors, please let me know!

CHAPTER 16

Seeing Kolivan again gives me a jolt back to reality I really could've done without. He comes with the mysterious Regris to examine our as-yet-unnamed guest, but he pays me a private visit in Red's hangar first. I'm glad. It's not a conversation I want to _have_ , much less have everyone _know_ about, and my lion's looming presence behind me is a comfort. 

Kolivan brings me a thick packet of pills in clear plastic wrapping and a Galra anatomy text on a data pad. “I believe these will be of assistance to you,” he tells me.

It’s weird that Kolivan gave birth. He's a _mother_. Looking at him, you’d think he was the most masculine person ever. He’s strong and decisive. Very in control. Not the maternal type at all.

I guess I have to work on my idea of what it means to be a man.

I take the data pad, which I don’t plan to look at, and the pills. “Is this what you gave me before?” I ask.

He shakes his head. "That was—" he says several very long Galra words I can’t follow “—which is highly regulated throughout the Empire and in short supply. We cannot spare any at this time. This is a mood regulator. Should you find yourself overwhelmed, take one tablet with a light meal. It should contain the urge to more manageable levels."

Even though Shiro says there's nothing strange about having a high sex drive, I don't know if a human would get what Kolivan means by _overwhelmed_. Biologically, I think I've got more going on. Still, the fact that feeling like a sex-crazed maniac is _normal_ doesn't exactly comfort me. “Isn’t there anything better? Something that could... shut things off? Make me not want it at all?” 

“It is unhealthy to alter one’s physical drives too drastically," Kolivan says. "Self-regulating teaches discipline and understanding of self. Medication teaches dependency and bears unpleasant side effects.”

Of course it does. “So when does it stop?” I ask. “I’ve felt this way before, but never for this long or this bad. Sometimes I can barely even _think_. It _can't_ go on like this forever.”

“It will wane in another 20 years or so,” he says.

I wish I hadn’t asked.

“The journey of life is fraught with peril. We all struggle with our innate drives in the beginning,” he tells me, like he's briefing me for combat. “When we are at our physical peak, our bodies are most insistent upon procreation. You will become accustomed in time. Before that happens, the stabilizers will help. But remember to only take them when necessary.”

His words feel like a prison sentence. Like I'm being held captive by my own body. I hold onto the pills maybe a little too tight. The wrapping on them crinkles. They smell like a chemical factory. “Perfect,” I say. “That’s perfect.”

“You have questions,” he says.

“When I was young, I didn’t have anyone to look after me," I tell him. "My mom abandoned me, and my dad was never around. I considered myself lucky to have a roof over my head—someplace I didn’t get kicked out of right away. Humans never really took to me, I guess."

"Distrusting that which is different is instinctive," he says. "The survival of a species depends upon its ability to detect and neutralize threats to its innate organization. You should not blame yourself."

Maybe he's right. I see the logic in it. But when everyone tells you you'll never amount to anything, you have a hard time not believing them. "Growing up, I never had any sort of vision for my life. No big goals other than keeping myself alive. But if I had?” I gesture toward him with the pills. “ _This_ wouldn’t be it.”

“There are, of course, more _instinctual_ ways of combating your body’s natural urges," he says. "Arrangements can be made. I do not know how humans view these issues, but we Galra find them quite acceptable."

“Yeah," I say. "Look how well _that_ turned out."

He just looks at me, and I remember it’s his son I’m talking about. Maybe I could’ve phrased that better.

“Perhaps it is best to find someone from your home planet with whom to share this burden. It may put less strain upon you to be with someone more familiar with your personal customs,” he says, “and closer in body structure."

"If Yarok said I couldn’t take his _body structure_ , he’s flat-out lying," I snap. "I’m not _weak_.”

Kolivan tells me, “He said no such thing.”

He’s still looking at me with that even expression of his, and I feel stupid for losing my temper. “Sorry. I guess I’m still upset.”

“Unexpected circumstances are trying to us all," he says. "We must look beyond the present to see that they are mere stepping stones to the future."

I sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. The future's still open." And it takes a minute after I've said it to realize I actually believe it. Because I have Shiro now. He's my _person_. And if Yarok hadn't made a mess of things, I'd still be alone, thinking no one could ever want me for who I really am. Though I'm not sure Yarok would appreciate being called a stepping stone.

“I must admit to being disappointed, however," Kolivan says gravely, pulling me out of my thoughts, "that I am no closer to acquiring a son-in-law. A paladin of Voltron would have made an exemplary addition to the family. And I do look forward to grandchildren. My son has kept me waiting, and with every passing day, I grow nearer to death."

I stare at him.

“Admittedly," he says, "I have always dreamed of Yarok bearing his own child, as I did, and it's clear that a match such as yours would not yield this result."

“That’s a… nice dream,” I manage.

“And I hear you have other intentions," Kolivan says. "A fellow paladin?”

My brain's still in second gear from _I do look forward to grandchildren_ , and I’m confused for a minute. Because how could he possibly know about me and Shiro? But of course Yarok told him. He is the _worst_ kind of gossip. Probably half the universe knows by now. “Yeah,” I tell Kolivan after collecting myself. What's the point in denying it? "Something like that.”

“Then allow me to offer my support,” he says, “and urge you to look through the anatomy text. _Knowledge or death_.”

“I’ll remember that,” I promise.

Yeah, I am never, _ever_ reading that thing.

Kolivan reaches out his hand, and I shuffle his gifts so I can shake it. It somehow makes the whole thing with Yarok feel like it's officially over—all the loose ends tied up, stepping stones far behind me marked with cosmic dust the shape of my footprint. It’s a weird sort of end to a weird story. Which, I guess, makes it pretty fitting.

Xxxxx 

After stopping by my room to drop off the things Kolivan brought (and washing down one of the pills with a protein pouch), I meet up with everyone in the Infirmary. Kolivan is standing by the door with his mask on. He nods as I pass him.

Team Voltron is gathered around our guest, who's lying on a medical cot and has a metal band clamped around his Galra arm. A light on the side of it pulses a gentle green. He smiles when he sees me. He looks better now that he's gotten some sleep. Above him, in full Marmora gear, stands the Galra with the long tail I first met with a blue nose in an elevator. 

"So you're Regris," I say. Perfect.

I think he looks at me, but it's hard to tell with the mask on. My cheeks flush anyway. So much for putting the past behind me.

"Regris here was just explaining the process for removing the cybernetics," Shiro says. His Galra hand briefly touches my shoulder as I step up next to him.

"I will need someone medically trained to assist, but the procedure itself is commonplace enough. The cybernetics are integrated with the living tissue in the base of the appendage, with relays coordinating it with the full arm," Regris explains.

"That would make it a lot easier to fix if it got damaged," Pidge says, "or to upgrade. You could just switch it out with another unit that has compatible hookups."

Regris nods. "We will put him under anesthesia to remove the unit itself while monitoring his reactions. I ran a basic scan of the circuitry, and I believe it can be safely capped with a non-reactive molded polymer, which would preserve the relays but prevent any signals from being transmitted to the remaining tech."

"So what are you putting in its place?" I ask. "Are you attaching a different arm?"

"That would require both a replacement appendage and the expertise of a trained medical cybernetics professional," Kolivan says from the doorway. "The Blade of Marmora is not currently in possession of either."

"How hard could it be?" says Lance. "Can't Pidge just whip something up and hook it to the circuit relay things?"

"I _wish_ ," she says. "If we were sure this one was safe to use, I could reprogram it, but making one from scratch is way beyond my abilities."

"What about Hunk?" I ask, turning to the man in question. "Could you design something?"

"A cybernetic limb based on alien tech that integrates with human neural pathways? Nope, no way," he says, waving both hands in defeat. "Not touching that one with a ten-foot pole."

"You know what else you wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole?" asks Lance. "The _Shironator_!"

"The what, now?" asks Hunk.

Pidge rolls her eyes. "Lance, we all know he needs a name, but he is _not_ going to call himself that."

"No no, hear me out. It's like the _Terminator_ ," Lance clarifies, "but a _Western_. For 10,000 years, the outlaw Galra Gang has terrorized the peaceful mining town of Deadwood, but _now_ —"

"Are we really doing this?" I ask.

"Okay, better idea," Hunks says. "Less of a _name_ , more of a _title_. I'm saying _Shiro 2: The Sequel_. Action packed, maybe a little car racing, lots of CGI explosions."

" _The Sequel_ ," Lance muses, rubbing his chin. "Sounds like a band."

"It's clearly a _cover_ band," Pidge adds, nodding. 

I'm no good at picking out people's expressions, but I recognize the look on our guest's face because his face is Shiro's face. "Don't _encourage_ them," I tell him.

He looks so innocent when he says, "I kind of like it, though." 

"No, you _don't_ ," I tell him.

He turns to the others and says, "Keith says I don't like it."

"Boo," says Hunk. "Minus ten points for the grownups."

"Keith just doesn't like it because he didn't think of it himself," Lance says, looking smug.

"Neither did _you_ ," I point out. "Pidge and Hunk did."

"Yeah, _so_?" he says.

"Alright, so it sounds like we've determined our plan," Shiro wisely interrupts. "We bring in the experts, remove the arm, and then destroy it."

"Will you be alright without an arm?" I ask our guest. 

He blinks at me. "I'm already without one."

"That's a very healthy way of looking at it," Shiro says.

"What other way is there?" he asks. It's a really good point.

"We will plan to return in three days' time," Regris says. "I will leave the restraining clamp. It will keep the arm from receiving enough power to be used as a weapon."

"We're in debt to you," Shiro says. "To _all_ of the Blade of Marmora. The relationship between you and Team Voltron is invaluable to our quest to free the universe. I sincerely hope that nothing will ever change that."

It feels like he's smoothing things over, but no one acknowledges it. Regris is showing Pidge and Hunk how the clamp works, Lance is telling our guest something about Billy the Kid, and Kolivan doesn't respond.

"We have other matters to discuss," he says instead from his post at the doorway. "On our most recent mission, we made an unwelcome discovery. It has to do with quintessence shipments. I believe a conversation including Princess Allura is in order."

Xxxxx

I am not needy. I swear I'm not. I'm going to treat Shiro the way he deserves. I'm not going to monopolize his time or drown him in demands for special treatment. I won't test the boundaries of our relationship by seeing what kind of behavior I can get away with.

So I'm definitely not going to ask to sleep in his bed.

But I want to _so much_. 

He doesn't even need to acknowledge me. All I want is to be there. I just want to curl up on the tiniest corner—down by his feet, even. And if he doesn't want me in his bed, I'll take the floor. I've slept in worse places. I slept on a broken sofa in a dumpster once. It had fleas. I don't even care.

But I'm not going to be that clingy, annoying asshole who thinks everything is about him. Which means I'm lying in bed at 2 a.m. fussing with my Blade of Marmora knife and staring at the ceiling. Which is fine.

I am _fine_.

But what if Shiro isn't?

What if he really _wants_ to see me, but he thinks _I_ don't want to see _him_. After all, I'm the one with the intimacy issues. I'm sure Shiro's done this stuff plenty of times. What if he thinks he's doing me a favor, and I'm lying here punishing myself for nothing?

What if he _needs_ me?

I sheathe my blade and climb out of bed. My boots hit the floor with a double _thud_ , and I throw on my jacket. This is dumb. I'm going to go see him. I'll just make sure everything's okay and say goodnight, and maybe tell him how special he is. That's normal, right? People do that.

I run my hands through my hair, wipe any traces of sleepiness from my eyes, and walk out the door.

And run smack into Shiro.

"Whoa," he says, and catches me by the shoulders.

I steady myself against his chest and feel pretty stupid. So glad I spent all that time training with the Blade of Marmora. It did wonders for my reflexes.

"Everything alright?" Shiro asks.

"Yeah, just couldn't sleep," I say.

"Right," he says.

He still has his hands on my shoulders, and I still have mine on his chest, and the moment stretches. "You wanna come in?" I ask.

Shiro's hands slide down to my elbows. "Would that be alright?"

I shrug.

"On second thought, I really should be getting some sleep," he says. "We both should. It's been a long day."

I throw him a look. "You came to my room in the middle of the night to say you wanted to go to bed?"

"I'm... a little on edge," he admits. His hands drop to his sides. "The intel Kolivan brought back about the new, more powerful form of quintessence he discovered at the Galra base is worrying. I was wondering if you'd done any more thinking about it."

I feel a pang of guilt because the only thing I've thought about all night is Shiro.

"The ramifications of his discovery could have far-reaching consequences," he says. "I wonder about why we haven't seen this type of quintessence before. Do you think this is Lotor's doing?"

"Could I sleep on your floor?" I ask.

He looks at me.

"I'll be quiet as a mouse," I tell him. " _Quieter_ , even. You won't even know I'm there."

"You're... sure you're okay," he says. 

I flex my fingers against his chest. I love how solid it feels. "It just seems dumb to be alone if we don't have to."

He looks at me for a minute with dark eyes and then nods. He takes my hands in his and brings them to his lips. His kiss is soft against my knuckles.

I'm smiling like an idiot, but that's okay because I'm _Shiro's_ idiot. He doesn't mind. He smiles back.

"Would you like me to stay here tonight?" he asks.

I shake my head, and he looks confused until I tell him, "I wanna sleep in _your_ room."

"On the floor?" he teases.

"I'll take what I can get," I tell him.

He laughs. "You can have the bed."

"I just want half," I tell him. "Or, maybe a third." I pull my hands out of his and make a show of measuring his shoulders and comparing the size to mine. 

Shiro laughs and pulls me to him. He's warm and incredible and so _real_ , I can barely believe this is happening to me. Who _am_ I? When did I become the sort of person good things happen to?

"Okay. Excellent," Shiro says. "Why don't you grab anything you need and meet me there. I'll tidy up."

I don't know what he has to tidy up, and I don't know what he thinks I need, but I stand in my room and count to 100 before I go after him. Okay, I count to about forty and lose count. I start over, lose count again, and start using my fingers. I'm too full of adrenaline to even be embarrassed over it. 

I’m sleeping with Shiro. _In his bed_.

I run all the way to his room and then have to stand outside his door for a minute to catch my breath. And it's _normal_ because Shiro's my _person_. I'm _allowed_ to be excited. This is what _actual_ people do.

When I go in, Shiro's finishing up putting new sheets on his bed. He pats the neatly-covered mattress with satisfaction and looks up at me and smiles. “Didn’t you bring pajamas?” He’s wearing his, the silky gray ones I put on him after he had his nightmare. 

“I sleep in my clothes,” I tell him. “And I keep my knife under the pillow.”

“The knife is fine, but the clothes are going to have to go. I’m guilty of it, too," he admits, "but we can’t act like we could be called to duty at any moment, as though there’s no room for relaxation.”

“But we could be,” I point out.

He gives a sheepish laugh. “True, but it’s not healthy. Time to unwind and relax is essential for all human beings.”

I look at him.

“And intelligent non-human species," he says, "presumably.”

He goes to his closet and pulls out a long gray tunic with black embroidery that looks like the top of what Hunk wears to bed. It’s sized for Shiro, so when he holds it out to me, it goes down past my knees.

“Why am I so _short_?” I demand. I snatch the tunic and toss it on the bed as I undo my belt. I strip off my jacket and shirt and hand them to Shiro. My Marmora blade goes under the pillow. “How many Galra have we met who are shorter than I am? Two? And my dad is a lot taller than me. Was my mom part Arusian or something? How is this fair?”

Shiro hums in support and takes my stuff to the closet. I pull the pajamas over my head and slide out of my boots and jeans while his back is turned. I feel like I'm wearing a Charles Dickens-style nightshirt. Or a dress.

A strange thought strikes me as I hand my boots to Shiro. “Wait,” I say. “Is my mom even a _she_? She might be like _me_... right? She could be a _guy_.”

Shiro pulls an extra pillow out of the closet. “It’s not impossible,” he says. He fluffs it as he walks toward me. “Maybe you’ll find out someday.”

“Yeah,” I tell him, and sit down on the edge of the bed. “Maybe.”

“Are you wearing your socks to bed?” Shiro asks. He's barefoot, his strangely delicate feet padding against the cool alien polymer of the floor.

I shrug. “My feet get cold.”

He laughs and chucks the pillow at me. "Cold feel already, eh?"

I catch the pillow before it beans me and toss it over on the bed with the other. “You know what I mean,” I tell him, but I smile. The terrible jokes are so perfect.

Shiro sits down beside me. His Galra hand pats my knee. “Seriously, though. You sure about this?”

“We’re just sleeping,” I tell him. “What could be wrong with it?”

He rests his hands against his thighs. Beneath his fingertips, thick muscle shows through the silky material of his pajamas. Would it be weird if I touched it? “I just want things to be comfortable between us. I want you to tell me if something happens that you don’t like," he says, "even if you think it’s silly. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agree. I like the way the skin between his eyebrows crinkles when he gets serious like this. “Same goes for you. As silly as you want.”

It's cheesy as hell, but looking in Shiro's eyes takes me back. It makes me feel like I'm a twelve-year-old foster kid again, staring in a shop window full of toys I'll never get to play with. Except this time, I actually _get_ one. And there's one toy I want to play with most.

“Deal,” Shiro says.

“Can I touch your scar?” I ask.

He blinks at me like he doesn’t know why I’d ask. “If... you want?”

I feel my lips quirk into a smile. “I want,” I tell him. I angle myself toward him, and my knee presses against his thigh. My fingertips glide across the shiny skin. It’s so soft and smooth, pulled tight across the bridge of his nose. The edges are nicer than I expected. I thought they’d be stiff, but the skin is just thicker there.

“I like it,” I tell Shiro. “I like your face.”

He acts like I said something funny. Which is okay even though I didn’t. I _do_ like his face. Even when it's laughing at me. He reaches behind me and slides the fingers of his human hand against the back of my neck. His fingertips weave into my hair and rub gently at my scalp. “I’m glad.”

I sigh and let my head dip against his hand. “You can keep doing that,” I tell him. He does. I close my eyes and relax into the feel of it.

“Found a soft spot, have I?” I can hear the grin in his voice.

“That's the only one,” I tell him, rolling my shoulders to ease out the lingering tension. Shiro's thumb rubs gentle circles just behind my ear. "Everyplace else is covered in pointy Galra teeth." 

He breathes a laugh, and my eyes open to find that look I saw earlier on his face that I couldn't pinpoint. I still don't know what it is, but it's open and it's happy, and I like it.

I don’t think he’ll mind, so I reach over and cup a hand against his cheek. His lips turn up in a smile. I like the way I can feel his cheekbones. And how he almost doesn’t need a shave right now. He’s just a little prickly and nice to touch.

“Hey, why don’t you come closer?” he says, and slides his hand to the base of my neck. It presses there, drawing me toward him.

That is the perfect idea. I swing one leg across his thighs and rest my backside on his knees so my eyes are level with his. It's not nearly close enough, so I grab his waist and pull myself in tight against his hips.

Shiro looks apprehensive. His hand finds my waist. “Is this...?”

I run my fingers through his white hair, making it stick straight up and then pulling it down to cover his forehead. I flatten it against his skin with my palm. Then I twist it around my fingers and push it back over the top of his head. It sticks up like a bleached weed in an overgrown garden. I go up on my knees a little and blow at it, and it flops back down.

“You’re kind of weird, buddy,” Shiro says.

I can’t help laughing. “What clued you in? The part about how I’m an alien? The fact that I ovulate? That my hair never grows longer than this, and I don’t need to shave?”

“Don’t you?” he says. His lips are really nice when he talks, too. I like his lips. I touch them experimentally and discover they're a little chapped.

“I never thought of it before, but it's definitely not a human thing, is it?” I muse. I poke at his chin, too, to test it out. “Though I've seen Galra with beards.”

“Would you like _me_ to grow a beard?” Shiro asks.

“Please, no!” I laugh.

He laughs with me, and his hands squeeze at my waist. The Galra one is gentler than the human one. Like he's concerned about breaking me with the very thing I am. It's kind of irresistibly cute. A swell of affection rises in my chest.

I hold my hands to the sides of his face and press my lips to the bridge of his nose.

And I’m struck by the memory of Yarok in an elevator. 

I try to blink it away. Wipe it from my brain. That's not what's going on here. That's all behind me. No sex is happening now. But the memory won't budge. I groan and slide sideways off Shiro’s lap onto the bed.

“You alright?” he asks. He pokes at my side like a kid poking a dead animal with a stick.

“Yeah, just bad memories,” I tell him, batting halfheartedly at his hand. I stare at the ceiling. “Or, not even bad. Just weird. _Weird_ memories.”

He nods down at me. His fingers brush my hair off my forehead. “Weird does seem to be a theme for us lately."

“Lately?” I say. "How about _always_?" I wonder if I should tell him about Galra semen being blue. Would mine be if someone sucked on me for long enough? Is that relevant here?

Shiro lies down beside me. He's on his side with his head propped against his hand like he might start doing aerobic leg-lifts. He rests his other hand on my chest. “Are you as tired as I am?” he asks.

“I don’t know how relationships work,” I tell him.

“Not the answer I was expecting, but that’s fair,” he says. He pats at my chest. “I don’t either. The last time I was in one, I couldn't legally drive a car.”

“I mean, am I supposed to tell you disturbing things because not telling you is keeping secrets?" I ask. "Or am I supposed to _not_ tell you because then we’d both be disturbed?”

“I survived as Zarkon's prisoner for a year. I’m pretty sure I can handle anything you throw at me, Keith. If it makes you feel better, you should tell me,” he says.

“It’s about,” I struggle to figure out how to explain it, “Galra anatomy. Things Galra have that humans don't.”

Shiro nods slowly. “Well, I admit I have been curious,” he tells me. His fingertips trace the dark embroidery on the neck of the sleep shirt I'm wearing. “You don’t look any different from full-blooded humans, as far as I can see. Your eyes are an unusual color, but nothing glaring. Are there some things you're having to deal with?”

Okay, he thinks this is about me and some kind of newly-acquired body issues. Do I have those? I file that question away for later. “The differences are on the inside. I never would've found out if I hadn't met other Galra. I think you’d need to do a pretty serious examination to tell.”

“Alright, I see. So you've never felt..." he struggles for the word, " _cyclical_ at all. Moody or tired during certain times of the month? Is that even how it works for Galra?”

I shrug. “I’m always moody. I mean, I _used_ to be,” I tell him. This isn't the direction I meant this to go, but I might as well roll with it. It's not like it won't come up. “Now I’m just... really wanting sex all the time. It's _aggravating_. It used to be enough to do it every few months to get it out of my system. I figured...”

I try to think of some way to explain it without mentioning Yarok. Talking about the guy who used to screw you senseless while you’re in your person’s bed doesn't feel right.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Shiro says.

I sigh in defeat. “No, I need to. Just... I’m wearing your _pajamas_.”

Shiro runs his the backs of his fingers up my neck. It’s strange what a comfort it is. “We all have a past, Keith. Not talking about it won’t make it go away.”

Yeah. But will talking about it make it go away, either? Am I being selfish wanting to put all this on Shiro's shoulders? I mean, they're strong shoulders, don't get me wrong. It's just hard.

“I thought it would only be a few times with Yarok," I finally say. "Then the ache would go away, at least for a while. But even while I was explaining how it was never going to work between us, the whole time, I was just... it's less intense now, but it still hasn’t _stopped_.”

Shiro makes a noise of understanding. “Do you think that’s something you could talk to someone about? Maybe this doctor the Blade of Marmora is bringing in to remove our guest's arm?”

"It's _normal_ ," I tell him. "Kolivan told me so. And he gave me a book, but of course it's in Galran, so it's not like I can read it."

"We do have translation software," Shiro says.

"Yeah, still not gonna read it," I tell him.

"Would you like _me_ to read it?" he asks.

"I would like _no one_ to read it," I say.

Shiro traces my collarbone with the tips of his fingers. "Even though it might have the answers to some of your questions?"

_Especially since it might have the answers_ , I don't say. "Look, I just don't feel like it. It's _my_ book, and I can read it or not read it if I want. It's none of anyone's business but mine."

"That's fine, Keith. I'm not trying to upset you," he tells me. "No one's going to make you do anything you don't want to do. Okay?"

"I'm not _trying_ to be upset," I tell him. My heart's beating too fast—fight-or-flight response—and I take a deep breath to calm myself down. "I just... Kolivan brought me these _pills_ , too, and I feel like..."

"It's alright," Shiro says. "Keep going."

"I'm not a _medical oddity_ ," I say. "I'm not some _test tube_ experiment or _tissue sample_ to stick under a microscope. And I don't want some book saying I am."

"What if it doesn't say that?" he asks. "What if it confirms that what Kolivan said is true, and everything you're experiencing is completely normal?"

"If all it says is stuff I already know," I say, "what's the point of _reading_ it?" 

He's silent for a minute, then he laughs. "I'm still getting used to Keith-logic. It's a little nihilistic, but I can't say it's not sound."

"Keith-logic is flawless," I mutter, and crawl up to the head of the bed. I pat at the extra pillow Shiro got out. There's a minute of shifting bedding because I'm lying on top of everything, and Shiro helps pull the covers up over me. 

"You know, I've never actually tucked the blanket in," he says, smoothing it over my shoulders. "I feel almost domestic." I laugh as he orders the lights to low and climbs in beside me. The bed is just small enough that he has to turn on his side so we both fit. He's so close, I can feel the heat off his body.

This is the dream I never allowed myself to have.

"Keith?" Shiro says. He rests a hand lightly against my hip. “I want to tell you that your eyes are very nice. I didn’t mean to make it sound like there was something wrong with them earlier. I'm sorry if it came across that way.”

I hadn't even thought of it. “They work just fine. It’s not like it matters if they’re nice to look at or not."

"Well, in case it does matter," he says, "I really like them."

"I like yours, too," I tell him. "They're nicer than mine."

He chuckles and pats at my hip. "That is not a debate you want to take on."

I find his elbow with my hand and run my palm up to his shoulder. "There's something else about being Galra I'm thinking about. I'm not sure if it applies to me, though."

Shiro's thumb strokes at my skin through the soft fabric of the pajamas. "Oh?"

"It seems like I work like a human and not a Galra, but I've never tested it out," I explain. "It's not an automatic thing. And maybe it won't come up because... I think it only involves blowjobs?"

I look at his face to see how he takes this. 

"Okay," he tells me. His hand goes still against my side.

I clarify, " _Receiving_ them, I mean. _Getting_ blown. Which I _hate_. Giving them is... well, that's how I know what happens."

"Reasonable," he says.

"Do you want me to stop?" I ask.

"Not at all. Go on," he tells me.

"The expression on your face makes it look like you're dying inside," I tell him. "Or really constipated."

He schools his expression to blankness. "Just waiting to see where this is going."

I don't believe him for a second, but I'm not about to call him on it. "I'm not sure exactly how the whole thing is plumbed, or if my plumbing is set up the same way. If it is, I've got... something that makes more liquid? As in, a lot more? Maybe... how much is in a shot?"

"A shot," he says. "As in, _a shot of whiskey_? He came _a shot's worth_?"

"It might've been more,” I admit. "I can fit a whole shot in my mouth."

"Jesus," he says, shaking his head. 

I add, "And it's blue."

"Okay. That's..." he clears his throat. "Right. So. Ah. For what purpose? I mean, the extra amount, not the, ah, color."

I shrug. "To put in the place where the babies get made, I guess."

"You do realize what that place is called, right?" he says. "You said it a few minutes ago."

"They have a different word for it. I can't even begin to pronounce it. But the idea is to..." Yarok kept saying _fill_. _Fill_ me. _Complete_ me. And it seemed so _right_. "I don't know. He promised to wear a condom, so I don't even know how it would work."

"But that's... that sounded good to you. You wanted him to." He says it like a fact, and it is. I still do. 

I want it _so bad_. My insides feel warm just thinking about it. To feel _complete_ for once in my life... I sigh. "I don't _want_ to want it. It's not a _choice_ I'm making. Maybe it's something evolutionary, something Galra developed as a species. I can't help it."

"I understand, Keith. And you shouldn't feel bad about it," he says. "It's not something you need to hide from me, if that's what you're concerned about. I'm here for you, and I hope nothing I say or do ever makes you feel ashamed of your body."

I hadn't thought about it like that. Maybe I _do_ have body issues. A lot of people have things they're self-conscious about, right? Mostly it's girls who think they're too fat or too skinny or don't like how their breasts look—which is _dumb_ because the things are _literally_ meant to feed infants—but whatever. It's the same thing. 

Thinking about it that way makes me feel a lot better.

"This isn't how I was expecting tonight to go," I tell Shiro. "Thanks for listening to me complain."

"You're not complaining," he tells me, rubbing his knuckles across my cheek. "You're talking because you feel comfortable with me, and sometimes getting your problems out gets you one step closer to solving them. If you keep stuff bottled up, it's just going to eat away at you and break you down. Okay?"

I nod. "It did help. Talking is good."

"Good," he says, and kisses my forehead. "Now, sleep?"

"Sleep," I agree, curling in against him. He wraps an arm around me. " _So much_ sleep."

Xxxxx 

Sometime in the middle of the night, I wake up feeling stiff and too hot. My neck is wedged against Shiro's chest at a bad angle, and it's stifling under the blanket. Shiro's like a space heater. 

I crack my neck and push the blanket off my shoulders. Shiro takes a deep breath and shifts against me. His Galra arm pulls me closer, and his thigh presses between my knees. I can't help smiling. This could be bad if he was awake. I'm hard (because of course I am), and he'd definitely feel it. But like this, I can relax and feel the comfort of his thigh pressing at me, shift a little so the pressure's nicer, and fall back asleep.

Some time later, I wake up because Shiro's snoring. He's twisted his head back in the most uncomfortable-looking position, with the arm that was around me thrown over his head. His mouth is hanging open, with drool out one corner.

Looks like we have some work to do on this "sleeping together" thing.

I nudge at his side, and he snorts and tips back a little. The snoring stops. I sigh and nuzzle in under his armpit. It kind of smells. It's perfect. 

I fall back asleep.

When I wake up, Shiro's not there. I turn over in his bed and blink hazily at his empty pillow. He was supposed to be here. That was the whole _point_. Why would he not _be_ here?

The bathroom door opens with a billow of steam. "Good morning, sleepyhead," Shiro says.

I stifle a yawn as I sit up. At least he didn't go far. "What's good about it?"

He laughs and comes to the bed to mess my hair up with his human hand. He has a towel thrown over his shoulders, and his hair is still damp from the shower. He's shirtless but wearing his pants. 

"You're really hot," I tell him.

"Uh," his face goes red. "Thanks."

"I mean when you sleep," I say. "I was super warm."

"Oh." His face goes redder.

"I also really like looking at you," I add. I'm allowed to say that now, right? Since he's my person? "If you were a shiny new hoverbike at the dealership, security would have to escort me out at closing time."

He laughs. "Did you sleep well? I slept like a rock," he says, rubbing at his hair with the end of his towel. "Didn't wake up once."

I smile. Hooking a finger over his waistband, I pull him closer. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek against the warm muscle of his naked stomach. "Yeah. Me too. Like a rock."

And it is the best sort of lie.


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

We have our first kiss—the lips-on-lips kind—in the kitchen. I'm not motivated enough to fix anything, and Shiro's sipping his fake coffee. As I'm swallowing down a bite of food goo, Shiro comes up behind me. I look over my shoulder and find his mouth on mine. It's soft and warm from the coffee. 

I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and bring him in closer. His lips part, and I run my tongue gently over his bottom lip. He makes a pleased noise and meets it with his own. The coffee tastes bitter, but Shiro pulls me close, and it feels good. I go up on my toes and press my tongue into the warmth between his teeth.

"Holy _crow_ , Keith!" a voice interjects. "Are you sexing _all_ the boys now?"

In the doorway stand an impressed-looking Lance and a goggle-eyed Hunk.

"Good morning, Lance," Shiro says, pulling away. His tone isn't pleased. 

I roll my eyes and go back to my bowl of green goo.

"Seriously," Lance says. "First that _Yorick_ dude, and now Shiro? Am I next?"

"You _wish_ ," I retort, wanting more than anything to throw my breakfast at him.

But that would be a waste of perfectly good goo.

"I would like to volunteer to not be next," Hunk offers, raising his hand. "Put me at the bottom of the list. As a matter of fact, no listing for me. Just—you know, leave me off it completely. I'm cool."

Lance leans on the table beside me. "So tell me, O Sexy One: what's your secret? The lone-wolf charisma? The otherworldly Galra pheromones? The devil-may-care attitude? It _can't_ be the mullet..."

"Guys, let's cool it," Shiro says. "It is _really_ early in the morning for this sort of thing."

"Oh, like _you_ have any room to talk!" Lance tells him. "Allowing yourself to fall prey to Keith's exotic Galra charms! You're supposed to be the _adult_ here. The _space dad_! What sort of role model are you to the rest of us?"

"Lance," Shiro starts, sounding tired.

"Better watch your step, or you'll be next in his long line of interplanetary conquests," Lance warns. "Face it, fearless leader, you're just like Yorick. You're Keith's next future ex-boyfriend."

"Yarok wasn't my _boyfriend_!" I snap. 

Lance smirks in that way that makes me want to punch him in the face. "Oh? So you _weren't_ puttin' the moves on him? Using a little bit of alien _body language_ —?"

I throw my spoon against the wall in a spray of green goo. " _Having sex_ with someone doesn't make them your _boyfriend_ , you _virgin_!"

The sound of the spoon clattering to the ground is the only noise in the room.

"Wait," Lance says. "Wait, so you _were_ sleeping with him? I was totally kidding! Aren't all the Marmorites like, eight feet tall or something? Which one is he? Have I met him? Is he—Hey! Hey now, hold up! Who are you calling a _virgin_ , you—!"

"Please stop," urges Shiro.

"I am totally _not_ a virgin! I—I get _plenty_ of action!" Lance insists, spluttering. "Tons of it! Buckets full! Boatloads! I mean, so much quiznaking _action_ that I can't even... you know... with the..."

"Yeah, should've quit while you were ahead, Lance, buddy," Hunk says. He claps a hand on Lance's shoulder. "Now you just sound pathetic."

"Who sounds pathetic?" Pidge asks. She yawns in the doorway, scratching the back of her neck above her paladin armor. 

"Lance," Hunk and I say in unison.

"Hey, I'm _saving myself_ , okay!" he protests. "I'm waiting for that special lady! The universe couldn't take this much unbridled passion if I unleashed it on the unsuspecting populace!"

"Yup, definitely pathetic," Pidge agrees. 

"Like _you_ can talk!" Lance says. "You're the one who gets lady boners over well-programmed security protocols."

"Those were _not_ security protocols, and my interest was purely platonic," Pidge tells him. She cranes her neck for a view of the table. "What's for breakfast? I've been really dreaming of omelets lately."

"Look, Pidge, you're clearly not grasping the gravity of this situation," Lance tells her. He crosses his arms in a ferocious pout. "Hunk and I just walked in on these two—" he motions toward me and Shiro "—getting hot and bothered at the breakfast table. Right _in front of the food goo_! Keith is clearly gearing up to topple interplanetary civilizations with his bedroom eyes."

" _Bedroom eyes_?" I repeat, looking at Shiro to see if he's just as incredulous. His face is red.

Hunk claps his hands together. "Okay, omelets. Omelets are the only thing out of this whole conversation that makes any sense. As the reasonable party here, I am going to make the logic happen." He disappears into the pantry.

"I don't have bedroom eyes," I say.

Pidge sits down next to me. "If that's what helps you sleep at night, food goo corrupter."

I heave a sigh and look down at my breakfast. I wish I hadn't thrown the spoon because now I can't really eat it. Yeah, I could _get_ a new spoon, but I don't think my pride could take it.

Lance leans against the edge of the table, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "I'm wondering if Voltron could maybe harness this unforeseen power of Keith's for the forces of good. Use him as our super-sexy secret weapon. Zarkon's out of the picture, but what about this Lotor guy? He's young, right? I mean, relatively speaking. So let's say the next time we meet him in battle—"

Shiro holds a hand to his forehead. "Lance..."

"Honestly, I don't see why anyone's shocked," Pidge tells me. She dips a finger in my food goo and licks it clean. I hold the bowl out, and she takes it. "I mean, Keith and Shiro have had a thing for _forever_."

"We... what?" I say.

She shrugs. "I mean, it's pretty obvious. You're always giving each other these _looks_ when you think no one's watching. We're not stupid, you know."

"—and we _jettison_ Keith at him," Lance says. "Like a missile, _KERPOW_!"

"Guys, missiles do not go _KERPOW_ ," Hunk calls from the pantry. 

"More like KABOOM," Pidge agrees.

"Has everyone lost their minds?" I demand. "I am not a _missile_. And Shiro and I did _not_ have a thing."

"Yes, I'm afraid you all have it wrong," Shiro says. He rests a hand on my shoulder. "If we _did_ jettison Keith, we wouldn't actually _blow him up_. It would sound more like FWOOSH."

"Is this really happening?" I demand, feeling grossly betrayed.

Shiro adds, "Also, we just started officially having a thing yesterday."

"Bow-chika-bow- _wooow_!" Lance sing-songs.

"Lance, you're dead," I inform him. "I am going to smother you with the weight of your own ego."

Lance grins. "Not before we launch you at Prince Lotor— _KERPOW_!"

"That's it," I announce when Lance is done shooting off his imaginary rocket. "I'm leaving. I'm going to demolish a few dozen training gladiators and hope that when I come back, all of this is just a bad dream."

"Half hour until omelets!" Hunk calls.

"I call dibs on the first one," Pidge says. "I'm checking out a lead on my brother with a shady merchant, and I can't be late for my fake business transaction."

"Me second! I'll take one to the _Shironator_ ," Lance says.

I shake my head at the injustice of the world, yank Shiro down by the collar to give him a kiss on the cheek, and go to test out how many gladiators I can destroy in 30 minutes.

Xxxxx 

We're on Olkarion when Pidge gets back. I'm handing out care packages to a group of war refugees Coran just shuttled in. I have to interact with people because Shiro wants me to work on my "soft skills." I don't know who named them that, but they're hard as hell. The Green Lion lands and draws our group, space mice included, out to greet her.

Everyone likes Pidge. They're all smiles and waves. They wouldn’t greet me that way. Then again, would I really want them to?

I would, actually. I would like them to greet me that way.

Pidge comes tramping down the lion-jaw steps to meet the others, and I’m trying to decide if what I’m feeling is envy when a man steps out behind her. He’s tall and wrapped in a ragged cloak. He’s too far away to tell for sure, but he looks familiar.

“Can you handle this for a couple minutes?” I ask the Olkari who’s helping me hand out the supplies. Her name is Leina. She’s engaged to be married to an Olkari her parents disapprove of for his rogue programming methods, and she dreams of perfecting her techno-organic quilting techniques and having "at least three, maybe four or even _five_!" children who will all grow up to be respected techno-botanists. I learned these things by talking to her. It was excruciating. “I need to do something.”

She nods and tells me _Of course_ with a smile I don't even think is fake, and I walk out into the square that serves as a landing area for Olkarion's central command. The man Pidge brought is kneeling down in front of Allura, looking lovestruck. Lance is about to blow his top. It's pretty entertaining.

Shiro's familiar stride carries him down the ramp of the Castleship, and he pulls the man into a hug. I think he’s grown since we met, though Shiro's size dwarfs him. He’s still skinny as a string bean.

It doesn’t look like anyone needs me for anything, and I’m about to go back to helping Leina when Pidge shouts, “Keith, there you are! This is my brother, Matt.” She waves me over.

Matt pulls away from Shiro and smiles. “Keith, hey!” he says. “I guess I should’ve known you’d be here. Of course Shiro would want you to come with him.” He looks a lot older, with a particularly nice scar on one cheek. He offers a hand, which I shake.

“I'm glad you're not dead,” I tell him.

He laughs.

“So… you two know each other?” Pidge says.

“We’ve met,” says Matt.

I’m honestly surprised he remembers me. The morning of the Kerberos Mission, Shiro was giving me a tour of the shuttle that was going to be his home for the next half a year, and we happened to run into each other. Matt's picture was plastered all over the news, but he saw _me_ for all of thirty seconds. Though I was probably one of the last people he saw before he left Earth. I guess that's the sort of thing that stays with you.

“After I escaped from the Galra and made it back to Earth, the Garrison was detaining me because of my arm. Keith launched a rescue effort and managed to free me,” Shiro says.

“Pidge and Hunk and I were involved, too,” Lance announces, looking peeved. “We were an _integral part_ of Shiro’s rescue.”

_By weighing down my speeder_ , I don’t say.

“You were all incredibly helpful,” Shiro says, though he’s looking at me. I think he senses I’m biting my tongue. “If I’d been kept in that tent, it’s possible the Galra could’ve gotten to the Blue Lion before we did, and we may never have made it off Earth.”

“For the record? That was _hands-down_ the scariest thing I’d ever done,” Hunk says. "Though it was not _nearly_ as scary as what came after. See, there was this cave with these crazy markings, and we fell through the floor and found this huge mechanical _lion_ that took us to an alien planet with a castle that was actually a ship where Allura and Coran were sleeping in cryo pods, but I didn’t _know_ they were Allura and Coran, and I thought they were both _dead_ —"

“It’s a long story,” Pidge finishes for him when he has to pause to take a breath.

“Sounds like it!” Matt agrees, then frowns. “Wait, what’s wrong with your arm, Shiro?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” I tell him. I step in front of Shiro to keep Matt from staring.

“Another long story,” Shiro says, patting my back with said arm. “I’ll explain it to you later.”

I tell him, “I can explain it if you want.”

“Oh, that’s so _cute_ , Keith, being all manly and protective of your _boooooyfriend_ ,” Lance coos.

_Boyfriend_ isn't the word we're using, and part of me wants to correct him. Preferably with my fist. But part of me _always_ wants to correct Lance, so what's the point?

Allura blinks, looking back and forth between Shiro and me. “Is he really?" When neither of us deny it, her eyes go wide as saucers. She clutches her hands in front of her chest and breaks into a too-large smile. "Congratulations! That's _wonderful_! Who would have thought that romance was blossoming right under our noses?” 

I don't say anything. Her eyes are all sparkly, and she looks like she might grab us both up and accidently crush us in her joy. It's a little daunting.

“Okay, but wasn’t he basically before?” Matt asks.

“That’s what _I_ said!” Pidge declares.

“He was not before,” Shiro says, unfazed. He tips his head toward my refugee intake station, and I realize he’s giving me an out.

“Look, I have to get back to my post,” I tell Matt. “I’m glad Pidge found you, or whatever.”

As I walk off, Matt is saying, “Well, at least he’s legal now.”

“Not funny, Matt,” Shiro says.

“It kind of is,” Matt tells him.

Lance says something that sounds like _Legal for what?_ , and I pretend I don't hear it.

“Okay, I’m back,” I tell my Olkari partner. She smiles and hands a blanket and some dried food packets to an alien who looks like an oversized gummy bear. Out the window, Pidge is dragging her brother by the arm into the Castle.

Xxxxx

Shiro's in a good mood when we go to bed. "I didn't realize it would be this good to see Matt again," he says as he strips out of his armor. "There was a camaraderie between us, but we weren't terribly close. I did a lot of smiling and nodding when he and Sam got going on their science. I never thought I'd look back on two months of theoretical electron orbitals and the double slit experiment with such nostalgia."

"I don't blame you," I tell him. I'm sitting cross-legged on his bed in his oversized pajama top trying to keep my eyes open. "Today was hard enough. I'm not sure I would've survived eight weeks of quantum physics." 

"I'm going to hit the training deck with him first thing tomorrow morning," Shiro says. "I'd like to evaluate his combat skills. He says he trained with the rebels, but a listening outpost isn't exactly the front lines."

He's pulled on his pajama top, but his armor is still clinging to his waist, sleeves dragging on the floor. He turns to brace himself against the far wall as he eases it down his hips, and I'm met with the sight of his naked backside. 

Over his shoulder, he says, "The Galra have been too quiet lately. Between that and the strange quintessence shipments, I have a feeling things are going to come to a head sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, I think you're right," I say, not really listening. You could frame his butt and hang it in a art gallery. When he bends over to yank the tight armor off his ankles, there's a line of dark hair down the crease that is arguably the most perfect thing I've ever seen. 

As he (sadly) pulls on his pajama bottoms, he says, "So, Keith. How do you feel about spooning?"

"Spooning what?" I ask.

He laughs and explains. I guess it's a _thing_ , though I've never heard of it. But I'm more than willing to give it a try if Shiro likes it. There's not a whole lot I wouldn't try if Shiro asked. It works out pretty well, though I admit I have the suppressants to thank.

Kolivan said to only take them when I need them, but I need them all the time. I take one with every meal.

He also said they weren't a cure-all, so I don't expect much. But after the first few, it's like turning a gushing faucet to a trickle. I barely even _notice_ anymore. Maybe it's because I'm half human. Maybe it's because you're not supposed to take so many in a row. The weird thing is that even though my urge for sex is gone, I still get morning wood. 

When I jerk off in the shower, it actually _helps_.

It would help more if Shiro didn't walk in on it. 

These _stupid_ Altean bathrooms without shower curtains... I slept in and made plans with Shiro to meet up at breakfast, so I'm not expecting him back. I've got my head tipped down against the spray with my hand pumping at my shaft when the door opens. 

"Hey, buddy. I'm finished up with Matt, and I was thinking..." Shiro starts. 

Instinct tells me to turn away from him, but is that how you treat your _person_? Is it something you're supposed to hide? It's a natural body process, and it's nothing to be ashamed of, but is doing it in front of Shiro _rude_ or something? I can't decide. So I end up just kind of standing there holding myself. 

"Right," Shiro says. "So I was thinking, since Matt and our guest hit it off..."

He goes on with whatever he's talking about, and I'm kind of at a loss. 

"...Keith? What do you think?" he asks.

"Um, yeah," I tell him. "Sounds good."

He grabs his toothbrush and starts brushing his teeth.

_Screw it_ , I decide, and start back at it again. Shiro spits and washes out the sink. I brace myself against the far wall and don't make too much noise when I come.

I expect a talk about it when I get out of the shower. Shiro's so big on communication. But he doesn't say anything. Instead, he talks about this plan to have our guest go with Matt and help with the resistance after we get his arm off. The subject of self-gratification doesn't even come up. 

I didn't think there was any way Shiro could make me even more happy to have him as my person, but I was wrong.

Xxxxx

Shiro likes to be the little spoon. I wouldn't have guessed that. I think it's a protective thing. I'm behind him, so if anyone—or any _thing_ —comes into the room, it'll have to get through him first. Shiro's like that.

Spooning is nice, though. It feels so good to get his hips seated snugly against mine. Since I'm shorter, my nose ends up between his shoulder blades. It's cozy. I can press up against him and reach an arm around him—and throw a leg over his hips in the middle of the night—and it works. 

And since I took the blanket off the bed, I don't get too hot. 

When I wake up with a full bladder at who-knows-what time, I drowse against Shiro's back, fantasizing it'll go away. Shiro shifts against the mattress and sighs in his sleep. I press my nose to his shoulder. He smells like comfort. The silky fabric of his pajamas is warm against my cheek.

Shiro moves back and forth a little against me. I wedge him in tighter against me, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat. I don't recognize right away what he's doing. It's not until his elbow hits me that I realize. 

Maybe he's asleep and not even conscious of what he's doing. Maybe it's because he saw me in the shower. In any case, he's definitely _doing_ it. His breathing picks up, and his heart beats harder against my cheek.

I'm strangely honored. This is a private thing Shiro doesn't do in front of other people. I know we do other things just between the two of us, but there's a big difference between being someone's little spoon and jerking off next to him in bed. 

As he speeds up and his hips start twitching, I feel an unexpected tenderness toward him. This is my _person_. He's comfortable with me. He doesn't have to hide who he is.

I slip my fingers under the hem of his pajama top and slide them up against the warm skin at the small of his back. His breath catches, and if he wasn't awake before, he is now.

With my other hand, I trace his waistband to where it's pulled out so he can get to himself. He has his hand stuffed inside his pajama pants. I slide mine in next to it.

Shiro gasps as I touch him. I just use my fingertips. I slide them down until I meet the wet tip.

"Keith," he murmurs.

"It's okay," I whisper. "You can keep going." I put my hand over his so it moves like he does.

He doesn't say anything sweet or tell me how good it feels. He doesn't reach his other hand back to touch me. He just brings himself off, making so little fuss in the end that if my hand wasn't sticky where it's rubbing against his pajamas, I'd think he just stopped.

I sniff at my fingers, but they don't smell like Yarok. Licking them off, they don't taste sweet. In fact, the taste is kind of gross.

And I am not the least bit hard.

I don't want it _at all_. I have zero interest. It's so great. I just helped jerk my person off, and I feel absolutely _nothing_!

Okay, I do still have to pee.

I nudge Shiro's back. He doesn't move. I look over his shoulder and find his eyes closed and mouth open. He's sleeping.

I climb over him as carefully as I can. After using the bathroom, I get into bed in front of him and pull one of his arms around me. He mumbles something and draws me closer.

"Shiro," I whisper. "Hey."

He sniffs and cracks open an eye. "Mmm?"

"I didn't feel _anything_ when I touched you," I tell him. "I'm not turned on at all. I'm so _happy_."

"Mmm. That's great. I'm glad you're happy," he murmurs. He pats groggily at my back.

I pull him in tight. I feel like my heart could explode. I've never been so filled with joy in my life. I press my lips against the soft skin at the base of his neck. "This is everything I ever could've hoped for," I murmur. "It's perfect."

Shiro makes a sleepy noise and gives me a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad to hear that, buddy. I really am."

Relaxing against him, it takes me a minute to realize he didn't say it back. He didn't say he was happy, too. Did he mean something by it?

"Shiro?" I say.

But he's sound asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

"I didn't actually say Lance could call me the _Shironator_ ," Shiro's double tells me, sitting on the edge of the infirmary bed. He's in the white medical suit again, and it clings to his every curve. "He was just so proud of himself for thinking of it, I felt bad telling him no."

"You're a nicer person than I am," I say. 

"Do you really think so?" he asks. "Or is that just something people say?"

I shrug. "If niceness is a contest, it's not one I'm looking to win."

He chuckles. "You could've fooled me."

It's not something I want to get into right now, with the Blades on their way to amputate his arm and the feel of Shiro's hands clinging to my skin. I ambushed him on his way to the Control Room this morning and pulled him in for a three-minute hug. He kept running his palms up under my jacket and saying, _We have to go_ , and I kept pressing my lips to the side of his neck and saying, _I know_. It was a solid conversation.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, _Thank you_ ," our guest tells me. "If something goes wrong with the surgery, if my memory of the past few days gets wiped, I just want you to know—"

"Everything's going to be fine," I say, cutting him off. "The Blades know what they're doing, and if you lose a few memories, you can make new ones."

He nods and lies back on the bed. He frowns when his head won't go flat because of his ponytail and pulls the elastic band out. His long hair spreads out on the bed beneath him. I take the band from him and slide it over my wrist like a bracelet. 

"I know I shouldn't be worried," he says, staring up at the ceiling high above us. "Last night, I dreamed I was lying on the ground looking up at the stars, and... I don't remember what I saw, but it seemed familiar. It's like I was looking at something I've been wanting to see for a long time, if that makes sense. Maybe getting this arm off is the key."

"I hope so," I tell him, thinking of stargazing in the desert. 

Behind me, the infirmary door opens, and I can tell by the echoed pattern of the footsteps—four feet, two bodies, long strides—who they are and what they're here for.

Our guest looks over my shoulder at them and then back at the ceiling. "They're tall, aren't they?" he says. 

"Lance and Shiro will be here before it starts," I tell him, in case it comforts him. He doesn't look nervous, exactly, but he doesn't look happy, either. "Maybe when you wake up, we can come up with a name that doesn't sound like a 2 a.m. kitchen gadget infomercial."

The look he gives me is completely blank, and I guess dumb jokes only work on the real Shiro.

On the other side of the bed, Regris comes into view beside the cybernetic he's here to remove. He has what looks like a tool kit slung over his shoulder. His partner steps in beside me, and I tilt my head upwards to see something more than his Marmora-armored chest.

Towering above me is Yarok.

I take a step back in shock. "What are _you_ doing here?"

“Good to see you as well, Keith,” he mutters behind his mask.

“I’m not joking,” I say. “Why are you here?”

“I was the only qualified medical assistant available,” he says.

“Since when do _you_ know anything about medicine?” I demand.

He heaves a sigh and pulls his hood off, dematerializing his mask. Released from its confinement, his Mohawk pops up to its full, very purple height. He points at the glowing rings in his ears. “I invented _these_ , didn’t I?”

I’d forgotten about the medical use for them. “Wait a minute," I say, "you _invented_ those?”

He rolls his eyes.

“What exactly did you two talk about?” Regris asks.

“We _didn’t_ ,” I say.

“We were occupied with other things,” Yarok clarifies. "He was in _training_."

Regris makes a noise that I can’t identify through the distortion of his mask, but I don’t think it’s in my favor. This was _not_ what I needed today.

“I want you to leave,” I tell Yarok.

“What you want in life is no longer my concern,” he says. 

“ _Tough shit_ ,” I tell him.

“We have little choice,” Regris says. "It could be weeks before we have another medical specialist available. Yarok had to be recalled from a mission in—"

“ _Nobody_ asked you,” I snap. I square my body to Yarok, put my hands on my hips to make myself look as imposing as my five and a half feet is capable of, and say, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you that you think you’re welcome here—“

“Any _number_ of things, I’m sure,” he mutters.

“—but you’re not. _Get out_.”

“We have an agreement, Keith,” Yarok says. “The terms don’t include me staying a specified distance away from you.”

“I didn’t think you’d be _stupid_ enough to show up here!” I insist.

“I’m doing my _job_ ,” he tells me.

“Do it further away from me!”

“I now understand the difficulty in your relationship,” Regris says.

“You don’t understand _anything_ ,” I tell him. “What you saw wasn't a _relationship_.”

Yarok sighs and shakes his head, which only pisses me off more.

“ _Getting blown on an elevator_ doesn’t constitute a _relationship_!” I announce to the room.

“What did _I_ just walk in on?” says a voice from the door.

I sigh. “Oh, it’s Lance. This day just keeps getting better.”

“We’re having a discussion on the existential nature of relationships,” our guest says from the bed as Lance saunters up to us. His voice startles me. I'd kind of forgotten he was there.

“Oh!” Lance nods sagely. “Right, right. Existential. Aaaaand that means what, exactly?”

“We’ve been over this,” I tell him. “I called you a virgin and you lied and said you weren’t.”

“That was not a— _Wait_ ,” he says. “Is _this_ the guy who...?”

Great. This is just great.

“This is Yarok,” Regris says, jerking a thumb in the other Galra’s direction.

Lance’s eyes boggle. “Are you _kidding_ me? Holy crow, Keith, he looks like a mutant puma on steroids!”

“Who is this noisy creature?” Yarok asks me, nose wrinkling in distaste.

“I ask that on a daily basis,” I tell him.

“You actually _slept_ with him? _This_ guy?” Lance asks, in disbelief. “With the furry ears and the pointy teeth? And the... does he have _claws_?”

I give Lance my most scathing look.

“If it helps, I don’t believe there was any sleeping involved,” our guest supplies.

“Whose side are you on here?” I say to him. He shrugs innocently.

“I don’t see anything so great about _your_ ears,” Yarok mutters, looking sidelong at Lance.

“Why do aliens always have a problem with my ears?” Lance asks. He touches them and frowns.

"Hey, who are you calling an alien, _alien_?" I demand.

“Good, you’re all here,” says Shiro’s voice from the entryway. He gives me a nod as he walks up to us. He looks every inch the hero, and I kind of want to murder myself and hide the body. “The others are still working out some kinks with Ryner, so this is everyone. How are things progressing?”

We all stare at him. Someone clears their throat. The proverbial crickets chirp.

Finally, Regris says, “We were just about to present the possibility of performing the procedure with the patient conscious. It would help to have him aware and able to give feedback.” 

“That is a _terrible_ idea,” I say. “If there’s any kind of programming in the arm that’s set to activate when it’s detached, we don’t want it happening while he’s awake. You gotta put him under.”

“I agree,” our guest says.

“He agrees with anything Keith says,” Lance announces.

“And what do _you_ think?” Shiro asks Yarok. “You’re the medical personnel, I assume.”

Yarok just looks at him.

Lance leans toward Shiro and whispers, as loudly as possible, “That’s Keith’s _ex_!”

It's not even worth correcting him. I give up. 

Shiro blinks up at Yarok. As tall as he is, the Galra has over a foot on him and looks imposing with his stiff Mohawk and scarred lip. He narrows his yellow eyes at Shiro in a way that isn’t exactly friendly.

“Yarok, so nice to finally meet you. I’m Shiro,” my person says, and holds out his hand.

Yarok stares at it for an awkward amount of time before shaking it.

“Keith has told me a lot about you,” Shiro continues, unfazed. “I’m really in debt to you for taking such good care of him during his training.”

“It was... my pleasure?” Yarok tentatively offers.

“I knew you were a combat specialist, but I had no idea you had medical training. That’s really impressive,” Shiro tells him. “Did you study with the Blade of Marmora, or did you have to go elsewhere for that?”

“Well,” Yarok says.

And then the two of them proceed to have an _entire goddamn conversation_.

Shiro’s talking about Galaxy Garrison, and Yarok is talking about growing up inside the Blade of Marmora, and it’s all completely cordial and unbearably frustrating. Shiro mentions a nearly disastrous camping trip we took in the desert, and Yarok tells him how he won the posters hanging in his room (which aren't posters, actually, but original signed artwork) gambling. This somehow leads to the revelation that Yarok used to hate the color purple and tried painting himself orange with an artist kit he got for his sixth birthday. 

I learn more about him in five minutes than I did the whole time I was having sex with him.

“In the end, I realized it wasn’t for me,” he says when Shiro asks why didn’t pursue his medical studies. “I like healing others, but I took it too hard when I wasn’t able to help. A single death would lower my spirits for weeks. Mother calls me soft-hearted, but I think it’s the difference between Galra customs of grieving and those of other races. Not being full Galra gives me a mindset he can't fully understand.”

“Whoa. I can’t believe Keith dated a _doctor_ ,” Lance says. He’s finally recovered from the jab at his ears and is looking at Yarok with a particularly stupid expression on his face.

“There was no _dating_ ,” I remind him. “And he’s not a _doctor_ , he dropped out.”

“Kind of like you, huh?” Lance says.

“I didn’t drop out, I was _kicked_ out," I correct. "You _know_ that!”

Our guest murmurs, _That seems worse_ , but I ignore it.

“You were kicked out of the Garrison?” Yarok says. He looks confused. “Are human standards for pilots so high?”

“Keith’s issue was with the constrictions of human social expectations,” Shiro jumps in to say, before I can give a more suitably rude answer. “He was considered the best pilot in a generation. And to be frank, I think they had him undervalued.”

“That’s Shiro-speak for _Doesn’t play well with others_ ,” Lance confides to Yarok behind his hand, very loudly and not at all confidentially.

“I need to talk to you,” I tell Yarok. “In private.”

He doesn’t move even after I add _Now_ , so I reach up and take him by the ear and yank.

“Ouch, stop! _Keith_!” he protests. His arms windmill as I drag him to the other side of the room.

“Well, I can see who wore the pants in _that_ relationship,” Lance says.

When I let go, Yarok rubs at his ear and sticks his bottom lip out in a pout. “That wasn’t necessary,” he mutters.

“You say you’re here to do your job, so do it,” I tell him, quietly enough that the others can't hear. “No more personal stuff. Stop bugging Shiro. Get the arm off the weird clone guy, and then leave.”

“That’s what I was _trying_ to do,” he says. He looks like he means it, and I feel a little bad. His ear is pretty red.

“Fine,” I tell him. “Perfect. I’m just in a really good place right now, and I can’t have you screwing it up.”

He frowns. “What kind of place?”

I look over at the other side of the room. Shiro and Lance are talking to Regris, who has his took kit spread out on a medical cart and is pointing to his patient's cybernetic limb. Said patient is unabashedly gaping at Yarok.

I take Yarok by the arm and turn him so the man has a view of his back. “I’ve been named second in command of Voltron,” I tell him, which isn’t a lie but isn’t what I meant. “I’m trying to inspire confidence in the rest of the team, and _you_ making everyone think we had sort of clandestine affair isn’t going to help them view me as a leader.”

“I’m calling it a _relationship_ , not an affair,” he says. "You’re the one who’s making it sound clandestine."

“I never _consented_ to a relationship!” I insist.

“But you _are_ in a relationship now,” he says. “The Black Paladin can’t say enough about you.”

“So _what_?” I say. 

"So," he says, “who named you second in command?”

I don’t have to ask why he’s asking. I can hear it in his voice. Maybe I’m terrible at reading other people’s emotions, but I recognize a jab when one’s aimed at me.

“I knew you were gonna do this. I _knew_ it,” I tell him, shoving at his chest with the flat of my palms. Because he just had to spin it like I’ve done something wrong. Like I even wanted to be a leader in the first place. Like I’m _sleeping my way to the top_. "You’ve _never_ cared what I wanted! It’s always all about _you_!"

“Are you trying to tell me _you_ cared about what _I_ wanted?" he counters. "That you gave _any_ consideration to my feelings at _any_ point since the day we met?”

“No! I’m not! I _never_ cared!" I shoot back. "I told you that in the beginning, and I’ve told you every time since— _I don’t care about you_!”

Yarok makes a face like he might hit me. Then he makes a face like he might cry. Then he puts his mask back up and storms out of the room.

Everyone is staring at me.

“Whoa, Keith, that was _fierce_!” Lance exclaims. His eyes are wide. “You served his heart up on a plate with a side helping of ass kicking!”

“Not helping, Lance,” Shiro tells him.

“Ugh, why does this keep _happening_?” I demand. I kick at the base of the nearest cryo pod in frustration. “It’s like he’s from an alternate reality where the truth means nothing!”

Shiro doesn't say anything, but his expression speaks volumes.

I take a deep breath and run my hands through my hair to steady myself. “I know, I _know_. For the sake of the universe, I’ve gotta be the bigger person and apologize, even if I don't mean it. But Yarok has at _least_ two feet on me, and he knows _exactly_ where to poke to make it sting the worst!”

“Not to butt in, but I think you should keep your dirty sex stuff to yourself, Keith,” Lance advises. “Or at least between you and Shiro. Since you two are, you know...!”

He follows this up with a dance I find incomprehensible. It's accompanied by beatboxing. I don't ask him what it's supposed to mean. Neither does anyone else.

“For the record,” I tell Shiro, “this is why I have no friends.”

“He’s probably hungry,” Regris says, before Shiro can respond. He's positioning a second medical cart on the other side of the bed with his tail. “He forgets to eat sometimes, and it always puts him in a bad mood.”

“It’s called _hangry_ ,” says Lance. “You see, you combine _hungry_ with _angry_ , and you get—"

“I’ll go find him,” I say, already on my way to the door. I yell over my shoulder, “Don’t perform any medical procedures until I get back!”

Xxxxx

I end up finding Yarok in the kitchen, just like Regis expected. He’s leaning over our suddenly undersized-looking table talking to Matt, who I thought was in the Control Room working remotely with Pidge and Hunk. I guess they finished up work on their Olkari death-ray thing.

“I don’t doubt it,” Yarok says in response to something I don’t hear.

“Well, I don’t know about _that_ ,” Matt tells him. He has a half-eaten plate of something pretending to be tacos in front of him, but he’s not paying it any attention. He’s staring intently at Yarok.

“Hey, Matt,” I say.

“Oh. Keith,” he says, blinking at me.

“Hello, Keith,” Yarok says without looking up.

“I came to apologize,” I tell him.

“For what?” Matt asks.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Yarok says.

“It seems like there is,” I point out.

“You’re only being yourself,” he says. “I can hardly fault you for that.”

Okay, I have no idea what made him change his tune, but I also don’t care. “We need you back in the infirmary,” I tell him. Remembering I’m supposed to be apologizing, I add, “If you’ve gotten enough to eat.”

He nods and stands.

“Uh, so I should, um,” Matt says. “My number. _ID_ number, haha! That’s what I, ah... in case you, you know...”

“Right,” says Yarok. “For collaboration.”

“Yes! I mean, it’s...” he hands Yarok something I can’t see.

Yarok nods and slides whatever it is into a pocket on the leg of his suit. "A pleasure to meet you," he says.

As Yarok steps away from the table, Matt picks up one of the tacos and stuffs half of it in his mouth. Yarok waves back at him as we go through the door and narrowly avoids walking into the doorjamb. Matt laughs and nearly chokes. 

I don’t ask what it was about. 

A dozen steps down the hallway, Yarok asks me, “How well do you know Matt Holt?”

“Not very,” I tell him.

“Is he single?” he asks.

“I just told you I don’t know him that well,” I say.

He’s quiet for a minute. We walk side by side, and for every step of his, I take two. Sliding his fingers through his Mohawk to straighten it in the front, he asks, “How many of the suppressants have you taken in a row? You smell terrible.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t smell like anything.”

“That’s the _point_ ," he says, frowning down at me. "Mother warned you about the side effects, didn’t he?”

“I don't remember asking your opinion,” I tell him. Of course he doesn't want me taking the pills. For the first time in I-don’t-know-how-long, I feel okay. _Normal_. I have zero need for him or anyone else. And I’m not giving that up because I don't _smell_ nice.

“Don’t say you weren’t warned,” Yarok says.

I tell him, “I wasn’t planning on it.”

We walk on in silence. There's not much point in speculating what will happen when our guest's arm comes off, and I don't like wasting mental energy on pointless things. But whatever it is, I hope it doesn't make things worse. Who knows what the Galra had planned with this guy and how screwing with their plans might backfire on us. 

“He has a nice scar,” Yarok says.

I blink up at him. “What?”

“Matt," he says. "His scar is nice.”

“Well, yeah,” I say. “Obviously.”

He smiles. “Though their organization is young, the rebels have been making real headway. I'm confident they'll be helpful in our fight against the Empire. Matt will be a valuable contact.”

“Sure,” I say.

“I think I’ll marry him,” Yarok tells me.

I roll my eyes. “Stop being dumb.”

He laughs and flashes me one of his cat-smiles. “Seriously though, do you think he likes me? If not, I’ll back off, but I truly do think there’s something between us. You'll put in a good word for me, right?”

I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping my mouth shut because if I open it, I’m going to get myself in trouble again.

“I don’t see why it's a problem. It’s not like _you_ want me,” he grumbles.

“Fine. Yes!” I snap. “I will _put in a good word_ for you. _If_ Matt asks. Could you quit fooling around and get down to business now?”

He grins at me the way he has a dozen times before, full of wicked promise, except this time, it's not a prelude to our clothes coming off. 

I am doubly glad for Kolivan's pills.

Back in the infirmary, Regris has everything set up. Lance is gone, and I don't want to know where he went, but Shiro tells me Allura needed help with something, and he gallantly offered his aid. I'm positive he's just afraid to watch the surgery, and no one will convince me otherwise.

"If everything goes as planned, it will only take a handful of minutes," Regis says. 

"And if not?" Shiro asks.

He shrugs. "Perhaps half a day."

I'd planned on staying, but as soon as our guest's eyes close, Shiro pulls me out into the hallway. "I need to talk to you," he says.

"Everything's fine," I tell him. "Except Yarok's _crazy_ , but we knew that already."

"I'm glad you were able to smooth things over," he says.

"He says he likes _Matt_. As in _likes him_ likes him," I say. And now that it's had time to sink in and fully disgust me, "I think he was _flirting_. In the kitchen. Why would he even _do_ that?"

"Alright, that's—we can talk about that later," Shiro says. He reaches out like he's going to touch me but pulls his hand back. "There's something I really need to discuss with you. About last night."

"Oh. Okay," I say.

"I..." He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. His fingers clench into a fist and then release. He swallows. "I overstepped my bounds. You were crystal clear about what you wanted, I understood fully where you stood, and I didn't respect that."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I admit.

He presses his lips together. "I'm sure this is the last thing you want to talk about right now, but putting it off won't make my behavior any less inexcusable." 

"Wait," I say as it finally clicks, "is this about you jerking off? That was—Shiro, that was _fine_."

"It wasn't, though," he says. "And I can't tell you how sorry I am. I want you to know it's not a situation you're going to have to deal with from now on. I won't let something like last night happen ever again."

"But you _will_ ," I tell him, wishing I understood why he's upset. "Of _course_ it's going to happen again. It's a natural bodily function. It happens whether you want it to or not, and taking care of it is normal. Right?"

I think for a minute I have it wrong. I've misunderstood some innate element of humanity, and Shiro's going to tell me masturbation is a sign of weakness, that only faulty people give in to the urge. He was humoring me not saying so before.

"What I mean is that I won't do it _next_ to you," Shiro clarifies. "I was half asleep in the beginning, but I should've gotten up as soon as I was conscious of what was going on."

I feel better, but still confused. "Why?"

He looks at me.

"Okay, let's try this again," I tell him, and reach out and take his Galra hand. I wrap my fingers around the unyielding metal. I look up into his eyes. "Hey."

"Hey," he says back, and his expression softens.

"So about last night—you didn't do anything wrong," I say. "I know I said no sex, but _jerking off_ isn't sex. I didn't have a problem with it. I... thought it was nice."

"Nice," he repeats, looking blank.

I shrug and give his hand a squeeze. "Because you're comfortable with me. You let me help you with it. I was _useful_ to you."

"Keith," he says, "allowing yourself to be used for someone else's sexual gratification is not okay."

He's deadly serious, and I wish he'd stop. "It was my _hand_. And I didn't _allow_ anything. I did it voluntarily."

"I don't want this to sound harsh, but from what you've explained to me," he says, running his metal thumb over my knuckles, "you've _voluntarily_ done a number of sexual things you didn't really want to do."

"That was different. I didn't have the pills then," I tell him. "I'm not feeling _any_ of that anymore. Okay?"

Shiro's metal hand contracts against mine, and he shields his eyes with the other. "It's just been," he clears his throat, "so long since anyone's touched me. I don't mean sexually. Just... physical _contact_. I missed it too much. You don't know how _grateful_ I am that..."

He presses his palm against his face. Behind his fingers, his skin is blotchy red, and I realize just how upset he is. "Shiro, buddy, it's _fine_." 

"I went back on my word to you, and I knew full well what I was doing when I did it," he says, voice pinched. He clears his throat again. "The guilt is eating me up inside."

"You didn't go back on anything," I promise. "I really did like it."

"And I can't look at the other me after they take his arm off—not today," he says, and sniffs.

"You don't have to," I assure him.

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow is fine, that's not an issue," he babbles, "just not today. I just can't, I _can't_."

"I'll take care of it," I say. And I wonder if this is the real problem.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. His human hand wipes at his eyes, smearing wet across his cheekbones. He tells me, "Thank you for putting up with me being such a mess."

"You're not a mess. You're just tired and overworked," I tell him. "Saving the universe isn't easy. If it was, everyone would do it. And where would _that_ leave us?"

"Unemployed," Shiro says. His free hand comes to rest on my hip, and he offers me a strained smile. "And however would we feed the lions?"

"We'd have to pawn our bayards," I tell him. "And maybe Lance. It'd be such a shame."

Shiro laughs, and it's almost entirely not forced. "You're much better at pep talks than you used to be."

"I'm just using the tools my person gave me," I tell him, giving his hand another squeeze. "He's the best at picking people up when they're down. And he really did make me happy last night. I'm _happy_ , Shiro."

He heaves a sigh. "I—It shouldn't have happened that way. That wasn't how I envisioned it."

I blink. "You _envisioned_ it?"

"If it was going to happen," he says, "I wanted it to be _special_. Sex between two people who care about each other should _mean_ something."

“A hand job _isn’t sex_ ,” I repeat. How am I not getting this across? “If it’s something I can do to myself, it _can't_ be. You don’t lose your virginity spanking it in the supply closet to the Arizona Firefighters Union's annual fundraising calendar.”

Shiro's face goes an unclassifiable shade of red. “Where do you even _hear_ these things?" he mumbles.

"People talk," I say.

"When you said you were happy," he tells me, looking down to where our hands are connected, "I was afraid you meant you were happy _despite_ what I'd done. That you were wiling to put up with it for my sake. And I never want you to have to feel that way with me."

"I know what I told you when we started this thing. But last night felt so... _natural_ ," I tell him. But I guess it wasn't. I never get this stuff right, do I? "I should've asked before I touched you. I just... thought you’d like it.”

Shiro sighs and pulls me into a hug. “I did, buddy. Of course I did.”

I wrap my arms around his warm body and close my eyes. One of his hands goes to the back of my neck, and the other slides over to wrap strong fingers around my hipbone. He presses a kiss to the top of my head.

Shiro gives the _best_ hugs.

“You could touch me too sometime, if you want,” I tell him. I reach up and run my fingers over the soft bristles of his undercut. “I’m going to do it anyway. The pills don’t fix _that_.”

He laughs against my hair. “I’ll consider it.”

“Only if you’re we’re not gonna have to have a heart-to-heart every time, though," I specify. "This is tiring.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

I sigh in defeat and sag against him. “You’re gonna want a heart-to-heart every time, aren’t you?”

I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “We’ll see.”

The door to the infirmary slides open, and Shiro steps back from me after a final squeeze. Regris comes to a halt a few steps away from us. If he has an opinion on public displays of affection, he keeps it to himself.

"Everything went as planned. The cybernetic came off clean," he says. Along with his tool kit, he's carrying our guest's severed arm. Seeing it tucked under his arm like a parcel for delivery is surreal. 

"Perfect. Let's get it to Olkarion so Pidge can run the tests she was talking about," Shiro says. "Keith, are you alright staying with our guest? I'm sure he'd like a familiar face when he wakes up."

I nod, though I wish that familiar face could be someone else. 

Inside the infirmary, Yarok is sliding his finger across a display screen on one of the medical monitors. An outline of his patient is surrounded by a dozen readings I can't decipher. The figure is minus an arm, mirroring the man on the bed.

He's lying motionless against the mattress. His eyes are closed, and he's breathing evenly. His hair looks just like it did when I left. If he trimmed the split ends, it wouldn't look half bad. I walk up to the bed and set a hand gently on his chest. A few inches down from his shoulder is the stump of his arm, capped by a gray, plastic-looking plate.

"He had no measurable reaction to the procedure," Yarok says. "Which is what we were hoping for, but you can never tell when you're dealing with an alien neural network. He should be awake in a few minutes."

It's strange seeing Shiro's body without an arm. I always knew Zarkon had it hacked off, but the cybernetics work so flawlessly, it was easy to not think about what that meant. It's not so easy now. I envision Shiro being taken out of his cell, at gunpoint, to a lab not so different from this room. A towering Galra in medical garb forces him onto a table, clamps him to it, and injects him with something that knocks him out. When he comes to, he's locked alone in his cell with a weight hanging from his shoulder. He touches it, and his fingers meet metal instead of flesh.

I feel like I might puke.

"I'm finished here," Yarok says. He turns off his monitor and pushes the cart away from the bed. "When he wakes up, he'll feel like he overslept and might be a little weak, but he won't be in any pain." 

I swallow down bile and ask, "What's gonna happen to the arm?"

"After having it examined, we'll take it a few systems away and destroy it. We're probably being overcautious, but if it does alert the Galra Empire, it won't lead them here," he says.

"Smart," I say.

"I've had chronic bad luck with relationships," he says. "It's an ongoing problem."

I sigh. "And you're telling me this _why_?"

"After a number of false starts, I was in one for several years with another Blade. It started out promisingly," he says. "But then we were put on duty in different sectors and went considerable periods of time without seeing each other—sometimes months. I wanted an open relationship to spare us the strain but was told no. She intended to stay faithful and expected the same in return."

"You know, I'm really not interested in your love life," I tell him.

"After a mission, I found myself near the station where she was posted and was given approval to stop over. I envisioned a loving reunion. I brought _candy_. Imagine my surprise when I walked in on her bending one of my cohorts over a requisition crate in the storage bay. It came as _such_ a blow. She had the perkiest little breasts," he sighs, looking mournful, "with the sweetest little cock to match. To see it driving into his slickened hole again and again..."

"I could've gone my entire life without hearing that," I say. 

"And _I_ could've gone without _seeing_ it," he says. "I swore off relationships. Made a vow I would never open my heart to anyone ever again. Strictly sex, nothing serious. Until I met _you_. And I realized... I wasn’t meant to be alone. Without love, I was _incomplete_."

I want to scream, but I know it won't do any good. I get it now. He's trapped in his own little world of regret or self-pity, or _whatever_ , and couldn't understand even if he wanted to. So instead, I think of Shiro. I picture him in the same position as Yarok found his girlfriend—naked and gasping and thrusting into someone I'm vaguely familiar with. He's clutching the man's hair, sweat running down into his eyes as he pounds his ass.

I don't really think it would bother me.

I'm not sure if the knowledge that my mother almost certainly had a penis bothers me.

I think about it for a minute and decide it doesn't.

"You'll remember to recommend me to Matt, right?" Yarok says. "I want to start out on the right foot."

And he's just so damn _hopeless_ , I can't help feeling sorry for him. Imagine setting yourself up for failure over and over, gathering up the pieces of your broken heart only to hand them over to your next heartbreak, all the while convinced they could be _the one_. I guess he can't help it—because who would do that shit on _purpose_?—but it seems... It's just so _sad_. 

"Look, Yarok," I tell him, "if you wanna do this, I'll back you up. But you gotta realize humans _aren't_ Galra, and you can't go treating Matt like he is and expecting a good result. You _have_ to talk about what both of you are looking for in a relationship, and when he tells you, _believe_ him."

"So if he says all he wants is sex," Yarok starts.

I shake my head. "If he says that, you walk. Humans looking for a serious relationship don't screw five minutes after their first kiss."

Yarok looks puzzled. "Then how do you know if you like each other?"

"By talking. Sharing about your past and what you want for your future," I say. " _Communication_."

He frowns. "Are you sure? That sounds terribly personal." 

"I didn't make the rules," I tell him. "But I guarantee he'll get the wrong impression if you skip straight to the multicolored condoms. Which might intimidate him, by the way. You're a lot bigger than any human _I've_ ever seen."

"Obviously. I'm taller," he says.

"Humans don't work that way," I tell him, after processing it.

He blinks. "Is that why you're all so short?"

"Look, just go slow," I tell him, not wanting to get into it. "Matt's a scientist, so I'm sure he wouldn't mind explaining anatomy if you two get that far. _Ask_ if you have questions. Skip the candy because humans can't taste it. And for god's sake, _don't_ joke about wanting to marry him."

"I was only _mostly_ joking," he mutters.

"Okay, we're done here," I tell him.

He smiles, and I can't help smiling back, and maybe I don't hate him quite so much anymore. 

After he leaves, it only takes a couple of minutes for our guest to wake up. He takes a deep breath and moves his mouth like his tongue is dry. I'm beside his human arm, and I rest a hand on top of his. His eyes flutter open.

"Hey," I say.

"Who are you?" he asks.

I smile. "It's Keith. You must be groggy from the medicine. Does your arm feel okay?"

He looks down at the stump of his arm. He raises his shoulder and lowers it again. "It doesn't feel like anything."

"That's good. That's how it's supposed to feel."

"What happened to me?" he asks.

"You don't remember?" I ask. He shakes his head. "We rescued you from the Galra, but we're not sure how or why you ended up there. You had no memory of anything before you woke up on the Castleship, and we decided to take the arm off in case the Galra were using it to control you."

"But why would they do that? Why would you need to rescue me from them?" he asks.

I tell him, "We think they were planning to use you as some sort of weapon against Voltron. Remember?" At least, that's what _I_ think.

"That makes no sense," he says. Sitting up on the bed, he swings his legs over the side and tries to stand.

"Easy," I tell him, and grab his shoulder when he starts to pitch forward. "The drugs are still in your system. You'll feel better in a few minutes."

"Something is not right here," he says when he's steady on his feet. Looking down at his remaining hand, he asks, "Why am I white?"

"Is that a joke about your name?" I ask. 

He doesn't answer because he's holding his hair out in front of his face and gaping at it.

"I forgot," I tell him, and pull the hair band off my wrist. I hold it out to him, and he stares at it like he doesn't know what it's for. I ask, "You want me to do it for you?"

He stares at me instead. "Who _are_ you," he demands.

"I told you," I repeat, "I'm—"

He waves away my answer. "I must speak with King Alfor. Where is he?"

I'm at a loss for words because I don't even know where he heard the name. Did Lance mention it? "You're confused. King Alfor's dead," I tell him. "You should sit back down and let me pull your hair back. If you want, I'll get Yarok to turn his ship around and check you over."

"Alfor... is dead," he says, a half-question, and stares at me.

"Yeah. For 10,000 years," I say. "He was killed by Zarkon, who got turned evil by some sort of alternate reality energy. Who told you about him?"

"Killed by an evil Zarkon," the man repeats, expression blank.

"You're delirious. You need to sit down," I tell him. I slip the elastic band back around my wrist and reach for his arm, but he pulls it away. He narrows his eyes.

"That which I know to be true is entirely at odds with what you say," he tells me. "One of us is correct. The other is either a liar or a fool. If you value your life, you will tell me which is which."

His words are strange, and his expression is so completely _not_ _Shiro_ that it sends a chill up my spine. "Who are you and what do you want?"

He moves so quickly, I don't have time to react. One minute, he's standing beside me, and the next, he's halfway to the door. "Wait!" I shout. "Where are you _going_?"

I follow him at a dead sprint. The door to the infirmary opens to a fifty-foot length of doorless corridor on either side. Even with a head start, there's no way he could lose me, and as I tear out the door, I jerk my head from side to side to see which way he went. 

But there's no one there. The corridor's empty. 

I listen for footsteps. Nothing. He's gone.

_Shit._


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

Confusion trails our guest's escape. He's nowhere on any monitor in the ship, but none of our external doors have been opened since Regris and Yarok left. "It's as though he's disappeared into the ether, like a Korsinthian Magaboo!" Coran says over the comm system. "Although that's not so much _ether_ as _large caves_. Or, _medium-sized_ _caves_ , by Korsinthian reckoning..."

"He can't have gotten far," I tell him, standing in the doorway of the infirmary and checking down the hallway for the hundredth time. "He was still groggy when he left. It's got to be some sort of trick."

"I've locked down all internal and external doors to unauthorized use," Allura says, "but it won't do much good, since the system will recognize him as Shiro."

"Alright, team, let's track him down," Shiro's voice announces. "He doesn't have a space suit and wouldn't get far if he did, so it's unlikely he'd go out an airlock. Allura, monitor all exits and entries. Lance, you head to the landing bay to stop him if he tries stealing a shuttle."

"On it!" Lance says.

"Keith, you stay where you are in case he shows back up," he says.

But I'm already running. "I think I know where he's going," I tell Shiro. "I'm going to try to head him off."

I don't dare say where because I don't want to put our guest on guard if he hears it through the comm. But it makes sense. The arm must've had a block in it to cover his memories, or it triggered new ones when Yarok took it off. He thinks he's Galra, a loyal servant to Zarkon. And what's the one thing Zarkon's always wanted to get his hands on that he's never been able to get back from us?

"There he is!" Coran exclaims. "He just popped out a _ventilation_ duct! How did he know that was there? And how did he know it would take him directly to—"

The Black Lion.

I sprint to the zip line, which is the closest access point. I take a flying leap and grab onto the handle, and it jerks to its breakneck downward journey to the speeder. In Black's bay, I don't see anything amiss, but my instincts are telling me I'm right. 

I leap off the speeder into the entry hatch and make a dash for the cockpit. 

Our wayward guest is standing in front of Black's dark display screen with his single hand pulling the long white hair back from his eyes. An anguished expression covers his face. "What breed of _insanity_ is this?" he demands.

"It's over," I tell him. "There's no place left to run." 

He stares at me. "Who _are_ you?"

"It's _Keith_ , remember? You thought you recognized me," I remind him. "I took you to your room and brushed your hair for you? Sat with you until you fell asleep? Told you the truth about what happened to you when everyone else wanted to sugarcoat it? I have your hair tie around my wrist."

He shakes his head. "No. This is madness."

I raise my palms so he can see I'm not holding a weapon and take a step forward. "You're disoriented because of the meds they gave you to take your arm off. Let's get you out of here before someone gets hurt."

"You were wearing his armor," he says. "How did you get it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I tell him, taking another step.

"I remember now. When we first met," he says, "you were wearing Alfor's armor, the _Red Paladin_. _That_ is why I thought I knew you."

"Look, I don't know what kind of lies the Galra put in your head, but there's no way you could've known King Alfor," I say. "He's been dead for millennia. The body you're in is only 25 years old. And it's _human_. What you think you remember is _not real_."

The whole time, I've been inching forward, and he finally recognizes it. He takes a reflexive step back toward the monitor, his single arm coming up in front of him defensively. Then he blinks, looks me up and down, and drops the hand. Stepping toward me, he turns and sits in the pilot's seat.

It's a risk. Turning his back to me, he's opened himself up for attack. Maybe he's decided I'm not a threat, or the threat I pose is negligible. I don't know if he realizes I have a knife strapped to my back. "We need to get you back to the infirmary," I tell him as he puts his hand on Black's controls. He looks at his right side where his other hand should be resting, and his grip tightens.

I step up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. He stiffens and shoots me a glare but then relaxes back against the pilot seat. He looks around the cockpit, eyeing the darkened monitors and inoperative controls. Then he closes his eyes and tilts his head upward. A slow breath comes from his lips. "Please," he murmurs. "You trusted me once, trust me _again_."

I'm about to tell him I don't know what he's talking about—when did I ever trust him with _anything_?—when I feel a presence behind me. My hand goes to my blade, but I know it could only be one person. 

Our guest reacts too late. Shiro comes at him from over his right shoulder, where he has no arm to defend himself. He grabs him by the hair and yanks him out of his seat. The man throws a fist to counter, but he's too close to get leverage, and Shiro easily smacks it out of the way. Twisting the man forward, Shiro slams his face against the front console. It hits with a sickening thud, leaving a smear of blood on the monitor. 

Dead weight, our guest drops to the ground. He doesn't move. Shiro stands above him, Galra hand held in the air, long strands of dark hair caught between the finger joints.

Our guest wasn't going to hurt anything. There's something wrong in his head, but there was no violence in it. Shiro didn't have to do that. I had it under control.

I reach down to the unconscious man and find his pulse steady. Shiro's isn't. He's breathing hard, staring at the blood. 

"Let's get him to the infirmary. He needs a cryo pod," I say, and squat down at the man's right side. Shiro doesn't move, and I snap my fingers. "Shiro. Get his arm. Come _on_."

He blinks at me and looks at the man's back. After a second, he bends down to help me haul him up onto his feet. The man moans and tries to lift his head but drops it again. Blood gushes from his broken nose. Between us, Shiro and I carry him the way Lance and I carried Shiro after he escaped from the Galra. The irony is vicious.

I want to give Shiro some kind of reassurance, but I don't know what that would look like, so I don't say anything. We take the man to the infirmary without exchanging a single word.

When Allura and Lance rush to join us, we're closing up the cryo pod. "He was trying to steal the lion," I tell them, which might be true and might not be. "Shiro had to knock him out of the pilot seat." Which definitely isn't.

"It's not as though you didn't warn us, Keith," Allura says, shaking her head at the man, whose medical suit is stained red down the chest. "You saw this coming, but we refused to believe you. Your instincts were good, and I apologize for not heeding your warnings."

"Yeah, looks like flushing him out an airlock really _was_ the best option," Lance concedes. "Sorry for not believing you, man."

I want to feel smug, but I just don't have it in me.

"Is… Shiro alright?" Allura asks.

It's a valid question. He's staring at the man in the cryo pod with his arms crossed in front of him. Something about his posture is off. He's too still, and his shoulders are curled in on themselves, the height of his back bent forward. There's none of his usual confidence in it. His double is right in front of him in all his armless glory, and this is exactly what Shiro _didn't_ want.

"He's fine," I tell her. "This has just been a lot. It would put anyone on edge."

"Perhaps you should take him… somewhere else," she suggests, quietly. "Someplace more relaxing?"

"You can play Killbot Phantasm in my room if you want," Lance offers. "I can totally hang with Pidge and Hunk when they get back. Don't mess with my saved game, though. I'm almost to level 20, and I just unlocked my Spellcaster's Rune Wave attack."

"You could always go to the pool room," Allura says, which is a better idea. She adds something including the words _romantic_ and _date_ that I block from my brain.

"Shiro," I say, and step up to him. "Come on, let's go."

When I put my hand on his shoulder, he _drops_. His knees give, and he's on the floor with his legs pulled to his chest and his head in his arms like he's about to be struck.

Allura gasps, and Lance cries, _Whoa_!

I go down on my knees and pull Shiro up by the wrists. "It's okay," I tell him. "You're alright, it's okay." He doesn't respond, and I haul his chest up into my lap.

Allura's asking if he's sick, and Lance is saying no, humans do this sometimes, it's a stress response, and I tell them, "Just _go_!" Still trying to cover his face, Shiro trembles, wide-eyed and unseeing, against me.

I don't know what their reactions are because I'm busy pulling Shiro up and cradling his strong body against my chest. His head lolls, and I tuck it under my chin. "It's okay," I tell him, pressing my cheek to the top of his head. His hair smells like Altean shampoo. "It's okay."

I don't know what else to do, so I just keep saying it and holding him close. Rubbing my hand across the broad span of his back and listening to the shaky cadence of his breathing. Part of me notices we're alone, that Allura and Lance are gone, but that's battle awareness. They're not even relevant. 

Shiro doesn't say anything for a while. He gives no indication he even knows I'm there. But after some time passes—ten minutes? An hour?—he shifts against me. His hand comes up and squeezes my arm. His chin tilts, and he presses a kiss against my collarbone where my shirt's pulled down by his weight against me. 

"It's okay," I tell him.

"How many times are you gonna have to say that before this is over?" he asks.

"As many times as it takes," I tell him.

He sighs and presses another kiss to my skin. He rubs at his face with his human hand. "This has been a rollercoaster of a week."

"Tell me about it," I agree. I brush his hair back off his forehead, and he takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles.

"Well, that was _mortifying_ ," he murmurs. 

I run a fingertip over the smooth line of his scar and tell him, "It's okay."

He takes a deep breath and heaves himself off me, sitting splay-legged around my ankles. "Well, it's over now. No point in wallowing in self-pity. Shall we head to the Control Room?"

His voice is strong, but his eyes are dull. I shake my head. "Permission denied. Back to your bunk, soldier." I stand and reach a hand down and pull him up. "Or mine. Maybe that would be good."

"For a change of scenery?" Shiro asks, straightening his vest. "Because our rooms are so completely different?"

"I just need to win some paintings gambling," I tell him, glad we're to a point where joking works. 

"Since you're a _terrific_ gambler," Shiro says. 

" _Go Fish_ is not gambling," I inform him. 

"You lost every single one of your snacks to me," he reminds me.

"You bought them for me in the first place," I tell him. "And you _gave them back_ after."

He chuckles and shakes his head. 

"You're coming to my room," I tell him. I take him by the Galra hand and tug him toward the door. It's the opposite direction of the bloodied man in the cryo pod, so he doesn't have to look. "And you're going to relax whether you like it or not."

"Serenity _now_ ," he mutters, but lets me have my way.

Going to my room was a good idea because the only place to sit is the bed, and none of my pajamas fit him. Since clothing isn't allowed in bed (by order of Shiro), he stripped everything off except his pants (by order of Keith). It's only fair that I did the same, but I definitely got the better end of the deal. The view is spectacular.

After I let Allura know what was going on, Hunk showed up with seafood linguine. I don't think the tiny "shrimp" that sizzle when they hit my tongue have ever seen an ocean, but the sauce is delicious. Shiro and I sit cross-legged on the edge of the bed and shovel noodled forkfuls into our mouths. 

"Yarok seemed nice," Shiro tells me, licking green sauce from his bottom lip, "from an outside point of view. Very personable."

"I told you he was," I say. "He just has the wrong idea about things."

"You mentioned something about Matt?" Shiro prompts.

I don't answer right away because I'm taking a bite. I don't know what the noodles are made of, but they're slipperier than real pasta. I slurp them down and say, "It pissed me off at first. He was almost in tears over _me_ , and then twenty minutes later, he's asking me to recommend him to _Matt_."

"Matt's a good guy," Shiro says.

"Yeah, I'm sure he's fantastic," I tell him. "That's not the point."

"Are you jealous?" Shiro asks.

"You're being dense," I tell him. He gives me a fond look. "Yarok swore he loved _me_. He had this whole future planned with _me_ in it, and at the drop of a hat, it's someone else. What are we, interchangeable parts he can just switch out? Is that all we're worth to him?" 

"Do you think he's really interested in Matt, or was he just saying that?" Shiro asks. "Was it a play to see how you'd react?" He aims a twist of linguine at his mouth, but it slips off the fork and back to his plate with a wet _plop_. Some of the sauce splatters on his pant leg, and I wipe it up with my finger and lick it off.

"He mentioned him again after the surgery, so I think he's serious," I say. "Or at least as serious as he _can_ be. People are so dumb about this stuff. They go on and on about _being in love_ , but I just don't get it. What's so great about having feelings if they're so…" I shrug, not finding the word for what I'm think of.

"Well, I don't think his feelings for you have changed. Not yet," Shiro tells me. "But eventually, they have to, don't they? If feelings didn't fade, we could never get over heartbreak. It's the heart's way of healing itself."

"That's dumb," I say, poking idly at Shiro's foot with my fork. His toes twitch. "How I feel about you won't change in a million years. Maybe it's not _love_ or whatever, but I couldn't replace you with someone else just because they have a nice _scar_."

Shiro doesn't say anything, and I poke at his foot again. He's got such a perfect arch. And good toes. I have the distinct urge to suck on them, which is strange because most of that went away with the pills. 

When I look up from his feet, Shiro is watching me with a look I've come to recognize as one he saves just for me. I tell him, "I think it's a Galra thing. The scars."

He nods and looks back down at his plate.

"I told Yarok I'd talk to Matt for him, but I'm kind of regretting it," I say. "Playing matchmaker sounds like a nightmare."

"Well, maybe I could help out. You're sure you wouldn't mind seeing Matt with him?" Shiro asks. "That wouldn't upset you?"

"I wouldn't mind seeing _you_ with him," I say. "What does it matter?"

"Really," says Shiro.

"I mean, you'd _look_ nice together," I say. "The purple would look good against your skin."

Shiro stares at me.

I sigh. "I just made it weird, didn't I?"

He laughs. "Only a little."

I run the backs of my fingers up his instep. "Is it possible to want to suck someone's toes in a nonsexual way?" I ask.

His lips twist in an attempt not to smile, and he clears his throat.

"Right," I say, and fish around in my pocket for one of the pills. I put it between my teeth but realize I don't have anything to wash it down with, so I hop off my bed and head to the bathroom. Shiro pats me on the head.

As I cup water to my mouth, I catch my reflection in the mirror. It's been a while since I've seen myself shirtless. So much has been going on. I'll never be Shiro, but my muscles are definitely more cut than before, and my shoulders seem a little broader. Maybe it's just me, but I swear there's something inhuman about how they spread out above my narrow waist.

I like it.

When I get back into my room, Shiro's finished up his plate of pasta along with mine. "I thought you were done," he says. 

I'm not sure if he's joking or not, but I don't care either way. "I think we should take a nap," I tell him, lowering myself back down beside him.

"Isn't it a little late?" he asks.

"Then let's go to bed," I suggest. "I wanna spoon."

"Do you," he says. His fingertips brush my shoulder and then skate across my shoulder blade to my spine. They hop over each vertebrae on their way to the base of my neck, where they press into muscle I didn't realize was tense. I curl into him, sliding a hand around the warm skin at his waist.

"Mmm." I press my lips against his collarbone. "You're cozy."

He chuckles and nuzzles his nose down into my hair. "Bedtime it is, then."

Once we get settled in, I tell him, "You should never wear a shirt again." My cheek is pressed against the solid warmth of his shoulder, and his back feels so good against my naked chest. I wonder if there's a word for the way it makes me feel.

"I think there might be some protests," he says.

"Yeah, riots in the streets," I tell him.

He's quiet for a minute. I have an arm draped over his ribs, and he runs his hand over it. "What actually happened inside Black today?" he asks. "I sensed something, but... Did I attack an unarmed man who posed us no threat?"

"He was trying to steal your Lion," I tell him.

"Which doesn't answer my question," he says.

I disagree. "He was talking about King Alfor like he was still _alive_. When I told him Zarkon killed him, it didn't seem like he believed me. I don't know who the Galra brainwashed him into thinking he is, but he's no friend of ours."

"That's a far cry from being a danger," Shiro says.

"He didn’t think _I_ was much of a danger, either. When I tried reasoning with him," I tell him, "he looked me up and down and _turned his back_ on me." 

Shiro takes a sharp breath. "That was _deliberate_. In the arena, turning your back on an opponent is a show of contempt. He was sending a message: you weren't worthy of his regard."

I don't know if he's right or not, but at this point, what does it matter? He was wrong, wasn't he? "It is what it is," I tell him. "Once the cryo pod's done with him, we'll lock him up and see what we can get out of him. There _is_ a cell, you know."

Shiro is silent.

"He can't say he didn't have it coming," I tell him. "This guy thinks he's Galra, and Galra understand that actions have consequences."

"He could," Shiro says. "Let's hope he doesn't."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it _now_ ," I tell him. "You should sleep instead of worrying. Everything will seem better in the morning."

Either he believes me or is just that tired because he falls asleep almost immediately. I spend hours pressed up against him, skin-to-skin, wishing this never had to end.

Xxxxx 

When morning comes, I realize I've miscalculated.

I wake up feeling weird. _Off_ somehow. I can't explain it. Shiro's still asleep beside me, all warm and soft, but I can't even enjoy it. I manage to climb over him without waking him up, but I catch my foot on the edge of the sheet and sprawl face-first on the floor. It's a very un-Keith thing to do. 

I feel better after a shower, but my stomach's cramping really bad. I wonder if Hunk's dinner didn't settle right. I may have eaten my share of meals out of garbage cans, but I've never been a fake-seafood kind of guy. I'll take a half-eaten burger to "krab" anyday.

When I get on the toilet, my first thought is that green pasta sauce does _not_ turn that color when it goes through your system. My second thought is that that's _not_ pasta sauce, and I'm dying. It's that crazy. 

Then I realize what's _actually_ going on and feel like a first-class hermaphroditic _moron_.

Of course Shiro chooses this very special moment to walk in. "Oh my _god_ ," he says, and immediately starts checking my vitals.

"You can stop," I tell him, as the Altean toilet conveniently auto-flushes ten seconds too late. "It's nothing." But I'm not sure that makes things any better. If your person finds you naked and bleeding, you should _probably_ be dying. I bat his hand away from my pulse point. 

He shakes his head and presses the back of his hand to my forehead. "What _happened_?"

"Kolivan warned me. So did Yarok. I didn't listen. It's my fault," I tell him.

"This... is a _Galra_ thing?" he asks. He looks a little calmer.

"This is a Keith-took-his-medicine-wrong thing," I tell him. "I must've dropped the hormone levels too low. You don't have to freak out, I promise."

"Okay," Shiro says. He squats down in front of me and sets a hand on my thigh. I've never seen him shirtless from this angle, but it's a good one for his shoulders."I'm glad you're satisfied. But that was a _lot_ of blood, Keith. Do you think you might be able to explain?"

I am intensely disgusted with myself. "I'm _fine_ , Shiro. I'm just... I think I'm menstruating."

Shiro blinks. "Menstruating? What does that mean?"

"You know what it _means_ ," I tell him.

He shakes his head. "No—I mean _yes_. But what does it mean for _you_?"

"It means I'm probably gonna have to look at that anatomy book Kolivan gave me after all." I sigh and pat his hand. Well, I made my own bed, so that only leaves one option. I stand, and Shiro moves over to give me room. I press my hand to my stomach, shift on my feet, but everything's dry. I bounce a little, but still nothing.

"Everything alright?" Shiro asks, giving me a questioning look from where he's squatting beside me.

"It seems like there's a shutoff valve," I tell him, "but I don't wanna chance it. Pidge has that translator, right?"

Shiro nods but looks apprehensive. "You're _sure_ this is normal."

"I'm shedding the lining of an internal organ," I tell him. "What do you _expect_?"

"Well, maybe talk to Pidge about that, too," he suggests. "She might be able to give you some hints. Or if you're uncomfortable with it, I can talk to her. If you'd like."

His face looks like someone just served him up a plate of live eels. Or maybe like someone served them to _me_ , and he's eating them so I don't have to. 

I reach over and tug at his tuft of white hair. He half-smiles up at me. "I'm gonna hug you even though I'm not wearing pants," I warn him. "But it's gonna be awkward if you don't stand first."

He laughs, and I wish this stupid Galra stuff wasn't happening because he's so nice to touch and his skin still smells like sleep, and I just want to hug him forever.

Xxxxx

I find Pidge in Green's hangar running a scan on a control panel. Her messy-haired figure is dwarfed by the bulk of the Lion behind her. She has a handheld computer hooked up to a data port that's scrolling through commands faster than I can process them. She makes a triumphant noise and starts typing like crazy.

"Hey," I say. I hold up Kolivan's data pad. "I need a minute."

She nods and scowls furiously down at alien schematics. "Hold on just a..." she pokes a finger at her screen "finished!"

"Can you translate this?" I say. I wave the pad at her. "Kolivan gave it to me."

"Yeah, easy," she says. "Give it here. I'll make it so you can read it on my scanner. But I'll warn you, the translation software's still not perfect. It might get pretty garbled for the detailed stuff, especially if there's no English word for it."

"Yeah, I've had issues before. Can you—" she snatches the pad out of my hands "—put it on something I can take with me? It's pretty long."

She has it hooked up and translated before I can tell her not to look at it.

"What _is_ this?" she asks, scrolling through it. "I was expecting fighting moves. Is that guy _naked_? Okay, wow, I did _not_ need to see that."

"Anatomy text," I tell her. "So I can figure out what my insides look like."

She makes a _hmm_ sound and turns and fishes around in a wheeled bin of mechanical parts. She comes up with a slightly scuffed but serviceable data pad. "Here, I'll put the whole thing on a separate unit for you." She does it in seconds. Handing it to me, she says, "Good luck. And maybe don't show Lance. Just a thought."

"Good advice," I tell her. "I was wondering if you could give me a little more. There's no good way to preface this, so I'm just going to say it: I have a uterus. All Galra do. Even the male ones."

She looks at me. "Okay, I have one, too. It's not a big deal."

"Even if it just started leaking stuff everywhere?" I ask.

"Oh, you're lucky," she says. "Mine started when I was _thirteen_. Fifth-grade health classes aside, I was in no way prepared for the immanency of crimson-shrouded womanhood."

I let go a breath I didn't know I was holding. I'm not sure what I was expecting. After the reactions I got when I found out I was Galra, anticipating the worst was a reasonable precaution. But Pidge didn't seem to care much back then, either. Or if she did, she didn't make a show of it. 

"Thanks for not freaking out," I tell her. "I think you took that better than Shiro. Though to be fair, he actually _saw_ it."

"Men are babies," she says. "He'll get over it."

"I am also a man," I point out. 

She raises a finger. "But more importantly, you're an alien."

"I feel like I've had this conversation a dozen times," I tell her. "We're _all_ aliens to someone else."

She shrugs. "Well, yeah. It's a big universe. The person you _shouldn't_ be an alien to is yourself. I'm glad you came for the translation," she says. Before it can get awkward, she adds, "How's Shiro doing? Allura's worried, and Lance has been uncharacteristically tight-lipped."

“I made him sleep,” I tell her. "He's fine."

She looks at me for a minute and then nods. “Hold on a sec, I’ll get you stuff for your Galra problem. I keep some in Green, in case of emergency,” she says, and leaves me alone with the translated anatomy pad. 

I swipe idly through anatomical diagrams until I come to the male half of the reproductive system. Thin tubes trail from what look like blue kidneys but are labeled FERTILIZER NURSERIES. They lead down below the limp PENIS to the undersized TESTES. The label calls them the INDOOR FERTILIZER HIGHWAY. A flashing button urges me to PRESS TO PLAY.

I look around the room, which hums with the low sound of the alien mechanicals that keep the Castleship running. There's no one here. I have nothing better to do. This is a normal part of self-discovery. I tell myself this several times.

I press my fingertip to the data pad.

The PENIS enlarges and pulls up toward the stomach. Blue color from the FERTILIZER NURSERIES travels down to the TESTES, which turn color and grow to several times their original size, just like I remember. They spasm, and the color flushes out through the erect PENIS in realistic spurts, and the diagram slowly returns to its original state. PRESS TO PLAY flashes again on the screen. 

It strikes me as the most pornographic thing I’ve ever seen.

Oh, yeah. I didn’t take a pill this morning.

Damn it.

When Pidge gets back, I’ve watched the thing a half dozen times. I swear to myself it’s for educational purposes. This is a blatant lie.

“I got these from Allura when I ran out of Earth stuff,” she says, handing me a bag of fluffy little towels and flat plastic disks. The towels are pretty self-explanatory, but I’m baffled by the disks. They’re about three 3 inches in diameter and flexible. And _pink_.

“Thanks,” I tell her. I close up the bag and tuck it inside my jacket. 

“Don’t mention it,” she says. She shoots a suspicious glance down at the data pad, which I realize I’ve left on, with PRESS TO PLAY flashing. I switch it off.

“You know,” says Pidge, “it just occurred to me that this is the longest conversation the two of us have ever had.”

“It can’t be,” I tell her.

“You’re also not yelling at anyone, which might be a first outside of the lions,” she adds.

“Yeah. I’ve been, uh, trying to be more social," I tell her. "Working on my people skills.”

“Sorry to rain on your parade, Keith, but making out with Shiro in the kitchen does _not_ count as people skills,” she says.

“I said _trying_. It’s a process," I tell her, "not an immediate thing.”

“Well, it’s nice to get to talk to you anyway, even if it’s just because you need a translator. And a source for sanitary protection,” she says.

Not quite what I was going for, but at least she’s accepted me as one of her own. It's not something that happens every day. “Thanks again, Pidge. I, um... you’re easy to talk to. This has been good.”

“You know, everyone here is pretty easy to talk to if you give them a chance. Hunk and I talk all the time. And I've been hanging out a ton with Lance since I got the video game system working," she says. "Though Matt’s the _real_ king at Killbot Phantasm. He's already at level 34! And he's still crashed on my floor with his head pillowed on a hydro-corision unit. I swear he could sleep _anywhere_.”

I smile and shake my head. I will never understand video games. What’s the _point_? Why use buttons to control tiny computer-simulated people when you could do the real thing yourself? How is that _fun_?

She tells me, "Talking to people is a little like Schrodinger’s cat.”

I'm lost. “Whose what, now?”

“Schrodinger was a physicist who illustrated the state known as quantum superposition with the paradox of a cat in a box being both simultaneously alive and dead,” she tells me.

“None if that means anything to me,” I inform her. “Why did he put a cat in a box?”

“It wasn’t a _real_ cat. It was the _idea_ of a cat," she says, like that makes it clearer. "It was a thought experiment applying the Copenhagen Interpretation to everyday objects.”

“Have you ever tried putting a cat in a box?” I demand. “It’s a _terrible_ idea! Why didn’t he use mice or lab rats?”

“Um, okay. Point taken. But the thing is that unless you check, you have no idea if the cat is dead or alive. For some time, it exists in a blurred state of being. It’s the same with people," she says. "If you never _talk_ to them, you have no idea if you'll get along or not. Their state of being is blurred until you examine it.”

“I’m not disagreeing on principle,” I say. “But after a while, you get tired of opening boxes full of dead cats.”

“Now that I think of it," she says, looking thoughtful, "the paladins might be more like space mice.”

I lost the metaphor somewhere—or maybe _she_ did—but I appreciate her effort. “I’ll work on it.”

“When it comes to theoretical physics, that’s all anyone can do,” she says with a smile.

“Okay, so I should... I need a bathroom,” I tell her, patting the pocket I put her bag in. “Before I explode.”

“ _Explode_? That’s weird, but good luck,” she tells me.

“Weird is my new normal,” I call over my shoulder on my way to the door.

“Since when has _weird_ not been _normal_?” she calls back.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Season 6 gave me all the feels. And I must be channeling Keith's mom because Yorak? Versus Yarok? We have the same terrible taste in naming our children. (Love you, Krolia!)

CHAPTER 20

When Coran mentions adding acting gigs to the Voltron Show's repertoire at our morning strategy meeting, I very nearly lose my shit. "Enough is enough! Voltron has done _dozens_ of shows in _multiple_ galaxies. Do you have _any_ idea what I've put up with?" I demand. "I've been hugged by molten worms who sweat acid. I've kissed screaming babies. I've washed _confetti_ out of my hair. If you think I'm _acting_ , you've got your head screwed on backwards!"

Team Voltron stares at me.

"What Coran was saying is that there are _already_ acting troupes," Pidge says.

"Yes. In the past few Spicolian movements, their numbers have swelled to nearly a hundred," Coran adds. "And that's just the ones we've heard from."

"Oh," I say. "That... sounds better."

I'm in a serious brain fog. Thinking is hard, and even though Shiro and I must've slept twelve hours last night, my body's begging for a nap. My stomach is cramping, my lower back aches, and my ears have this high-pitched ringing I can't seem to shake. I feel like I got chewed up and spat back out again, complete with bloody tooth marks.

At least the little towels Pidge gave me stick to paladin armor.

"There's been an upsurge in planets that have been liberated from Galra control by the Blade of Marmora and rebel forces," Shiro explains. "Believe it or not, the Voltron Show of Arms went a long way in inspiring others. Since Voltron couldn't make a personal appearance at every planet, the locals did the next best thing and created shows of their own."

"The story of Voltron conquering the evil Lord Zarkon has been quite a hit," Allura adds. "I've heard they're even selling action figures, with the profits benefiting war refugees."

"Yeah, and if you collect ten box tops from Crunch-Bix on Nelfani-7, you can send them in for a poseable mini-lion," Hunk says. "It's a shame Crunch-Bix is made with liquid nitrogen. I think it's your shattering teeth that make the crunching, and humans aren't so great at growing new ones."

"I don't know about you guys, but _I_ say this calls for a visit to the Space Mall," says Lance. "I need to pick up my action figure before it becomes a collectible and the price skyrockets. I'll buy you one, too, Allura."

She rolls her eyes.

"I ordered the whole set quintents ago," says Coran, with glittering stars in his eyes that fizzle out as he adds, "but _Black Paladin Shiro the Hero_ is sold out. I should have thought to pre-order. He _is_ the most popular character."

Lance splutters, "Wait, _Shiro's_ the most popular?"

"So what does this mean for the Coalition?" I ask. This is getting out of hand. "How much has it added to our forces?"

"Substantially," says Shiro. He brings up the intergalactic map of Galra territory we've gotten used to analyzing, with Coalition planets glowing green. He presses a button, and the color spreads. "These green clusters represent planets, and in some cases entire _star systems_ , that have joined the Coalition in the past few weeks. Not coincidentally, all of them are connected to a Voltron performance of some kind. If we do this right, we can harness that power and enthusiasm to strike a lethal blow to the Galra Empire."

"If we could pinpoint a weakness in Galra defenses," says Allura, "a large number of ships cut off from support or an installation to target that would significantly weaken them, now would be the perfect time for the Coalition to go on the offensive."

Pidge nods, looking thoughtful. "I'll have to talk to Matt. If rebel intelligence were added to ours, the accuracy of my Galra Finder would increase exponentially."

"Great idea, Pidge," Shiro says. "I want to compliment you— _all_ of you—on your dedication. Being a cohesive team is more important now than ever. I'm glad I have everyone's full support."

Though it doesn't take much to get Shiro to go on about teamwork, I wonder if this is about yesterday. No one wants to think of their leader as weak. He's doing his best to reassert himself so no one doubts. But I think he's underestimating them. 

"Speaking of _teamwork_ ," says Lance, and I brace myself for something dumb, "I was thinking Keith and I could do a little work together on the Training Deck. You know, brothers-in-arms, _compadres_ , all that jazz? Don't wanna get out of practice."

It's a surprisingly reasonable suggestion. I'm feeling draggy enough that I might not outclass him completely. "Fine by me," I say with a shrug. I look at Shiro.

He nods. "Sounds like a plan."

"All right!" Lance says with a fist pump. "Time to show some Altean training protocols who's boss!"

"Don't kill each other before lunchtime," Hunk says as we head out. "I'm making food goo Hot Pockets." 

"Yeah, save your dying for after you've tasted lunch!" Pidge adds.

Hunk insists, "That was _one time_ , Pidge!"

Unexpectedly, the entire day passes with no one dying.

Xxxxx 

That evening, I'm lying on my back on Shiro's bed with my head hanging off the side so the world is upside-down. Kind of like my life, or at least my hormone levels. The screen of Pidge's loaned datapad is not.

“I have watched this video a hundred times,” I tell Shiro the moment he walks in the door. “I need you to take it away from me.”

“What is this, now?” he asks.

I heave a sigh and haul myself up, swinging the world right-side up again. I blink hard against the head rush and show him the animated diagram. He stares at it, blank-faced. When the blue spurts out and it resets itself, he pushes PRESS TO PLAY and makes it go again.

“You’re enabling me,” I tell him.

“This is _fascinating_ ,” he says. “Can you imagine what an Earth biologist would make of it? You'd have the scientific community in an uproar.”

“It tastes _sweet_ ,” I tell him. I'm not sure what my point is. He’s pressed the button again, and I’m mesmerized. That spot inside me that aches to be touched is feeling so good, even if it’s not in any sort of shape for action. Even the sight of Shiro's extended finger touching the screen makes my insides flutter.

“There must be a reason for it, biologically speaking,” Shiro says. He goes through the sequence again.

“Yeah. To make you wanna put it in your mouth,” I tell him. I can practically taste it. And I should be horrified, but I'm not.

“Right,” he says. “I remember that part. But why so _much_ of it? And why the _mouth_? It can’t be connected to the reproductive system. Can it?”

“Dunno,” I tell him. “I can’t get past this page.” I reach out and PRESS TO PLAY.

Shiro watches it with me.

I tell him, “I need you to take this away. It's doing weird things to me.” I hold the data pad out to him.

He has to pry it out of my fingers.

Sticking my hands in my pockets to keep from grabbing it back, I take a deep, calming breath and announce, "I’m going to the bathroom. For the _twentieth_ time today.”

Even if the book told me I can safely hold it for ten hours, it's not exactly comfortable. But I guess that's what I get for convincing my body it was unfit for reproduction by mimicking the hormonal levels in someone half starved. Healthy Galra don't bleed. 

_Not_ my finest hour. 

When I come out, Shiro's staring at the datapad screen like it's one of the lost wonders of the world. I don't think he even notices I'm back. I look over his shoulder and tip the display to see it better.

On it is a familiarly-styled diagram of a Galra. The view is from the side, showing a cross-section of his PENIS and TESTES along with the internal FERTILIZER NURSERIES and their connected blue plumbing. Behind these, pressing downward against the NESTING ENTRY FLOWER, is a baby.

The size of it bulges out over the genitals, dwarfing them. It rests head-down with its arms curled up above skinny legs. Its ears look almost human.

"Can you _believe_ this?" Shiro says. "It's just..."

_Horrifying._  
  
"...miraculous! Think about it, Keith. You could _bear a_ _child_."

"Yeah, we've talked about this. I don't know why it's shocking you," I tell him.

"I... guess I just hadn't pictured it. I hadn't thought of..." He shakes his head and reaches out a hand to my stomach. He spreads his fingers wide where the baby is in the picture. Where it would be in me.

I bat his hand away. "No way, don't even think about it!" I order. "No one's putting a baby up there, _including_ you!" 

He chuckles. "I'm just marveling at the wonders of the universe."

"My angry uterus is not a _wonder_ ," I remind him. 

"If you hit play," he says, "it shows _childbirth_. Did you know your pelvis _hinges_ down the—"

I snatch the pad out of his hands. _Nope, nope, nope._ "So I have a proposal."

Shiro blinks. "Okay."

I have to think for a second because I don't actually have anything to say. And my mouth is watering thinking about watching that video again. "You know how you keep saying I need to get along better with Lance?" I finally come up with. I toss the pad onto the bed so I'm not so tempted. "And how I need to choose my second in command? I think I'm ready to talk about that now."

He nods. "I'm glad to hear it. Did you do well training with Lance today?"

"Yeah, actually. And he was great running interference with Allura when you weren't feeling well," I tell him.

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Shiro asks, with a smile that's half cringe.

"You had a bad spell yesterday. I bled all over myself this morning. It happened," I say. "But we made it through, and we're gonna _keep_ making it through because we're _there_ for each other. That's what a relationship is _for_."

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Keith," Shiro tells me.

I don't really believe that, but I press onward. "The thing is, if there's ever a time when I _can't_ be there for you, the person I pick will _have_ to be. This is potentially the most important decision I'm ever gonna make, both as your backup _and_ your person. So I'm not making it lightly."

"I agree with you one hundred percent," he tells me. "And I'm completely confident in your decision. I think Lance is an excellent choice."

"Right," I tell him. "But what if it's Pidge?"

He looks at me.

"Hear me out," I say. "I know she's young, but she's smart—she's a _genius_ —and she's good under pressure. She's _more_ than capable. Maybe she's not the best in combat, but she can learn, and unlike Lance, she's easy to get along with. I don't see us butting heads over stupid stuff."

Shiro crosses his arms and nods slowly, thinking it through.

"Pidge doesn't jump to conclusions and spring to action before she thinks. I'm all instinct, and she's all intellect, so we balance each other out. And on top of that," I tell him, hoping it will seal the deal, "she didn't make a fuss when she found out I was Galra, like basically _everyone_ else did. _And_ she was really helpful today, even if she said weird things about cats. She could _do_ the job, Shiro. For me and you both." 

"I can't argue with that," Shiro says. "I hadn't seen this as your conclusion, but I'm not unhappy with it. How long have you been considering Pidge?"

_About a half a second before I started talking._ "A while. And I'd offer it on a trial basis. If it doesn't work out, I... guess I could try Lance."

"If you keep making that face, it'll freeze like that," he says.

"What face?" I ask.

He laughs and squeezes my shoulder. "Alright. Pidge, it is."

Xxxxx

It was so nice sleeping shirtless that I brought my pajama pants to Shiro's room. We fall asleep skin-to-skin, nesting spoons mirroring each other's curves. I wake up hard against his naked back. The need is almost palpable, flooding my brain with a haze of arousal. It's been so long since I've felt this way, I'd almost forgotten what it was like. I don't know what I was dreaming about, but it was nice. Too nice to let go to waste.

“Shiro,” I murmur, running a hand up his back, over the side of his ribs, and across his chest. I press a kiss against the jut of a shoulder blade, then run the flat of my tongue over heated skin. 

He arches back against me, his hips grinding where my hardness is trapped between us. I stifle a gasp and press back. His Galra hand slides down my thigh, fingertips biting into the fabric of my pants. 

He smells so _good_. I press my nose against his back, taking long breaths of the warm scent of his skin. I haven't felt this way since before I started taking the pills. My head is swimming. You could bottle this and sell it.

I don't know what I mean to do when I hook a thigh over his hips and pull myself up and over to face him. When I flop down in front of him, I only know I want more of everything he's giving me.

“Mmm,” Shiro hums, and pulls me in close. His breath puffs against my cheek. Strong and warm, his arms are a revelation. They tell me exactly what I want.

“Hey,” I murmur, sliding my palm down human flesh to Galra metal to take his hand. “You wanna help with this?” I press his cybernetic to where the fabric of my pajamas is tented at the apex of my thighs.

“Jeez, _Keith_ ,” he whispers.

“You wanna?” I ask again. It comes out breathy and wanting. I press my hips forward so my length pushes against the unyielding metal of his palm. It feels _so_ good.

His fingers flex against me, and a thrill shoots through the pit of my stomach at the thought of being stroked by the slick metal. But then he pulls his hand out of mine. "Keith, no," he murmurs.

“Okay,” I tell him. It's not the answer I want, but that's fine. "Just a thought." Kissing the underside of his jaw, I take one last breath of his scent and slip out of bed. 

I pad across the room in stocking feet. The bathroom door whooshes open, welcoming me in with the cool glow of Altean strip lighting. I bring myself off into the toilet with a breathy moan, satisfied with the way it makes me feel. Not out of control, not yearning for more, and not distant from it like the pills made me. Stable. Comfortable. Though it would've been nicer to do it wrapped up in Shiro's arms. _Everything_ is better in Shiro's arms. Maybe later.

I take care of my "Galra problem" and wash my hands. I'm going to get such a sound sleep after this.

I have to shield my eyes when I open the door. Shiro has the lights turned all the way up. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed with a frown on his face.

“Are the Galra attacking?” I ask, with some amount of hope.

“We need to talk, Keith.” Shiro pats the bed beside him. “Have a seat.”

Shit.

I order the lights down to half power because even if Shiro’s a masochist, I’m not. I slump down next to him, still a little boneless. Unease gnaws at me, though my body feels too good for it to take over. “I’m always doing the wrong thing,” I tell him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “I just need to work through some things with you. This is about me, okay?”

I don’t believe him. 

“Keith, about the... what you offered to let me do," he starts.

“Jerk me off?” I suggest. Though maybe I should've phrased it different.

“Yes,” Shiro says. “I'm a little confused. When we started this thing together, you were very clear about your boundaries. I was one hundred percent onboard with the sort of relationship you were looking for. But the lines are blurring, and I'm not sure where that puts me."

He doesn't say anything else, and I'm pretty sure he's looking for some kind of answer, but I don't know what the question is. “You want me to do you at the same time?" I offer. "That’s still not sex. Using _hands_ isn’t sex.”

Shiro presses his lips together. “You see, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Every time I feel like I know where I stand where sex is concerned, the definition changes. At this point... I don't know if this is the sort of relationship I can be in with you."

My blood flows cold. “Are you... breaking up with me?”

He sighs. "Keith—"

"I'm _sorry_ ," I tell him, breath tight in my chest. "I didn't _mean_ to, it just _happened_. I stopped taking the _pills_ , and I didn't—I'll be better, I _swear_. I'll never ask you to touch me again!"

"Keith, buddy, it's not that," he says. He runs a hand over my shoulder and then up to my neck. His thumb rubs gently at my skin. 

I drop my head and press the heel of my hand between my eyes. Why did I have to _do_ that? I _knew_ he wasn't comfortable with it. He told me! Just because I don't get _why_ doesn't make it okay. God, I am so fucking _stupid_. I _deserve_ to be broken up with.

The thought makes me feel ill. The room spins, and I press a hand to my mouth to keep from retching.

Shiro pulls me against him. His hand rubs my back. “It's okay, buddy. We're okay.”

I turn my face toward the warmth of his bare skin. "Don't break up with me," I murmur into his shoulder.

Shiro sighs and rubs at my back gently, calmingly. "Keith, I lived at the Garrison for a long time," he says. "The very nature of a military school makes it a never-ending stream of hormonal teenagers. Maybe they weren't as _open_ about it as you, but I know human nature. I never expected our relationship to be clinical." 

“I can pretend it’s not happening,” I offer, voice muffled by the way I'm pressing my cheek against his skin. "It can be more like the Garrison. It’s not a big deal.”

"It _is_ a big deal," he counters. "And I need to explain something to you about my point of view. The way this whole thing makes me feel. I’m not sure it's going to be a comfortable conversation.”

Talking about _feelings_ is the last thing I want to do. Well, second-to-last. Maybe _third_ if you throw Yarok in the mix. But Shiro is my _person_. I owe him this. I owe him _everything_. “Okay,” I tell him. I pull away from the comfort of his arms and settle against the mattress. “Let’s talk.”

Shiro runs a hand through my hair, pushing it back off my face. He gives me an encouraging smile, like this isn't going to sting the way I know it will. “First, I want you to know that if we ever _do_ break up, we’ll still have a relationship. It'll just be a different one. We won't be strangers to each other, and there won't be animosity between us. You don’t need to worry about that. Okay?”

Right. I know how it is. He'll find someone else, someone _normal_ , and forget all about me. Which is why I can't let it happen. “Okay.”

"When you first explained what you wanted in a relationship, there wasn't a doubt in my mind I could do it and be happy with you," he says, "and make _you_ happy, too."

I sense a _but_ coming up.

He takes my hand. His skin is weirdly clammy. “But when your expectations of me started changing..." he gives my hand a squeeze, "it forced me to reevaluate my ability to give you what you need and maintain the type of distance _I_ need in order to give you that. Does that make sense?"

"No," I tell him, honestly. Miserably.

"I told myself I could handle shifting the expression of my desires to match yours," he says. "But somewhere along the way, a line was crossed. And hiding that from you would be just as wrong as you hiding from me."

"I still don't get it," I tell him.

Shiro clears his throat. He catches my eyes with his and holds my gaze. "Keith, I have feelings for you. The _traditional_ kind. The kind that want flowers and candlelight dinners and making love in front of a fire on silk sheets."

My stomach drops. " _What?_ "

"I've felt this way for... a while," he admits. "But I know things don't work that way for you, and I respect that. I want you to know that I don't expect anything from you because of my own feelings. I am _never_ going to press for more than you feel comfortable giving. Okay?"

I shake my head, feeling numb. “But you want _more_. You said you wanted what I want, but you _don't_. You're just like the rest of them—you can't be in a _relationship_ with me!"

“I know what I can and can't do," he assures me. His voice is gentle but firm. "Don’t make my decisions for me.”

“But," I want to hit my head against things, cry, rip the heart from the universe with my bare hands and smear cosmic blood across everything anyone ever loved. "But how could you be _happy_? You want normalcy, and _I_ can't give you that! Why would you spend the rest of your life not getting what you need?”

"Are you planning on this lasting that long?" he asks.

I duck my head. Of _course_ he's not thinking about spending his entire life with me. We've been together, what, a _week_? He's still working things out. I made the leap to forever because I can't stand the thought of him ever leaving me again. I'm no better than Yarok, shoving my plans for the future in his face.

Shiro runs his thumb over my knuckles. "Keith, I'm in this thing for the long run. I would never would have started it if I hadn't been." He tilts my chin up with his fingers so I have to look at him, and I can tell he means it. 

I take a deep breath, decision made. "We should have sex," I tell him.

He gives me the look you give a child who suggests something impossible but endearing, like adopting a hippopotamus for a pet. "You hate sex."

"But _you_ don't. You like it. You _want_ to," I say. "On silk sheets in front of a fire, apparently, though silk is _not_ flame retardant, so I'm _not_ agreeing to that. We'll do it in a bed."

"Keith," Shiro says.

"Or across the _side_ of a bed, if you wanna bend me over it," I add. "They're a good height, and it would feel nice if you pushed me down against it. Or we could do it in the lounge if you like it more public, or the _kitchen_ if you wanna do it on a table, or even in one of our Lions—"

"Keith, I'm not—"

"—but _not_ in an elevator," I finish. " _That's_ where I draw the line."

"I am not going to have sex with you," Shiro says. "It's called _compromise_."

"Compromise is meeting in the middle, not setting all your needs aside for someone else. That's not right. And it's not _realistic_ ," I tell him. "I can't expect you to never have sex again because _I_ don't like it. That's dumb, Shiro. You _know_ it is."

"Keith, if you're comfortable with... with using _hands_ ," he shrugs, "that's more than enough. I just need to know where the ultimate line is going to be drawn so I can get myself in that headspace. That's all this is about."

"But if you were with someone else, someone _normal_ , you'd get _all_ of it," I insist. "Not just hand jobs from some guy who's so _screwed up_ , he's not emotionally capable of—"

Shiro puts a hand over my mouth. "Hey, stop that. You're not screwed up. You're just _you_. I'm not interested in someone else. I want Keith, my _person_."

"You want a _boyfriend_ ," I tell him after I've pulled his hand down. "Do you _honestly_ think you're never gonna miss sex?"

"I haven't missed it yet," he says.

"You will," I tell him. 

He gives me an unreadable expression. "What I mean is, I'm not going to miss something I've never _had_."

I roll my eyes. "Don't be like that. I know you have. Everyone at the Garrison knows."

"Well, when we get back there someday, I'll have to ask them about it," he says. "Sounds like quite a story."

"Look, I know you're not a virgin," I tell him. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better."

"I'm not lying, Keith," he says. "I've never had sex."

It's not funny, and I'm starting to get irritated. "You _have_! Everyone knows! There was that engineer with the mustache you had in your room, and the consultant who wore the tight skirts. And that _redhead_ before the Kerberos Mission who was blabbing to anyone who'd listen. And I know stuff happens in town all the time that no one hears about because I've done it myself!"

"Okay, first of all," Shiro says, "that consultant was a problem. She resigned rather than have charges filed against her."

I gape. "She _what_?"

"I tried to take it in stride, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. After a few weeks, I managed to get her on one of the security cameras while I was clearly shaking my head no and pushing her away," he explains. "I showed her the video and told her I was going to report her if she didn't quit. I should've reported her anyway. She'll just do it to someone else. She probably already has. I regret not being more proactive about it even though I know that's victim-blaming."

"But... she was so _pretty_ ," I say.

He gives me a strange look. "What does pretty have to do with it? I told her I wasn't interested. Multiple times. No means no."

I'm blown away by this. I thought Shiro was having a little fun— _everyone_ did!—and he was being sexually harassed. 

I'm struck by the sudden and uncontrollable urge to track this woman down and kick her in the face. 

"I don't know who the engineer you’re talking about is, but you know that's against policy. I would never do anything like that on premises at the Garrison," Shiro says. "Especially with someone with a _mustache_." I think he can see the murderous glint in my eye. He's trying to divert my attention with humor.

But I can still picture every last one of that bitch's teeth knocked out of her pretty mouth.

"There's, ah, an interesting story about that redhead," Shiro says. "I'm not sure what was circulating, but I guarantee you it wasn't true."

"The story says you were in the lounge at Captain Frank's together for half an hour," I tell him, pushing down my murderous impulses.

"Well, that part's true," he admits. "Nothing happened, though."

"For half an hour," I say, "you were doing _nothing_. And it didn't involve that fake leather couch?"

"We... were _sitting_ on it?" he offers. He shrugs like the whole thing has no meaning. "I was playing pool and drinking with some of the guys as a last hurrah sort of thing—Ryu, Dos Santos, Hendrick... he was buying. You remember Hendrick, right?"

"The one with teeth like a horse?" I ask.

"Not polite, Keith," he says, "but yes. So I'm living it up on Hendrik's dime, and this senior cadet starts talking to me. She's coming on to me really strong, saying how impressed she is about the mission... The guys are egging me on, telling me I should do it. I was going to be away from civilization for months with only Matt and Sam, so..."

"That's the story I heard," I tell him.

"So I went back with her, thinking I would... Look, I ah," he clears his throat, "I've done _some_ things. I'm not a _saint_. Or a prude."

"Okay," I tell him. "What have you done?"

He looks at me like a deer in the headlights.

I ask, "Should I list options?"

"Er, I've... had oral sex," he manages. "When I was a cadet, mostly. It's... been a while."

"You're a prude," I pronounce.

He sighs. "It didn't seem right. I was _someone_ as a pilot. People at the Garrison _looked up_ to me."

"They couldn't look up to you while they were on their knees?"

Shiro looks like he wants to sink into the floor. After taking a minute to recover, he tells me, “I've always though of sex as something you saved for someone special. Fooling around a little was alright, but... at a certain point, I realized I wasn’t being true to myself.”

“Because you didn’t like it?” I ask.

“Ah, no. I did. I believe you when you say you don't like receiving it, but I can't imagine it. It was... yeah." His face goes red. "But it wasn’t what I truly wanted. It seemed like a poor substitute for what I knew would make me happy.”

“And what was that?”

He asks, “You remember how I said I’ve had feelings for you for a while?”

“Yeah,” I tell him.

He just looks at me.

“I don’t know what that silence means,” I tell him.

“I didn’t feel right being with someone else, when," he takes a deep breath and lets it out, "I was thinking of you.”

I blink. “You thinking of me while someone was sucking you off?”

“Well,” he says. His face is very red.

“I don’t think of you like that,” I tell him. “But I could blow you if you want. It’s not like it matters, and that anatomy video has me thinking about it anyway.”

He looks distinctly uncomfortable. “They do call it oral _sex_ ,” he says. "It's very different from just using hands. And I’m fairly sure you couldn’t do it to yourself.”

I shrug. “I don’t know, I’m pretty flexible.”

He gapes at me.

“This is dumb," I announce. "We should just have sex.”

He sighs. "Keith—"

“ _I’m_ the one who has a problem with it, and I’m saying we should do it," I tell him. "You’re my _person_ , and you should get what you want. You told me not to make decisions for you, so don’t make them for me.”

"We have an _agreement_ ," he reminds me. "Knowing how much your past experiences hurt you, I'm not willing to alter it on a whim."

"All my best decisions are made on a whim," I tell him. "On _instinct_. And I say we try this. If it's terrible, we tell bad jokes about it and laugh it off as just one of those things, and we never do it again. If we like it, we keep doing it. Problem solved."

"And what if it goes bad for you like it always has before? What do we do then?" he asks. "How is that benefiting either of us?"

"We _talk_ ," I say. "That's what we've always done, and that's what we do if it goes bad. We _work things out_. It'll be okay, I _swear_."

I might be lying. I don't know. We could do this thing and crash and burn. We could find out we only work as friends. Shiro could discover sex is something he needs and be unhappy because it's not something I can promise on demand. I could be ruining everything. 

I tell him, "Please, Shiro. I _need_ this." Because drawing things out for months or even _years_ before we inevitably end up doing it is senseless. We're never going to know until we give it a shot.

“Okay,” Shiro says. “If you’re sure.”

I nod, heart beating hard in my chest. Knowledge or death.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter's a long one! I kept looking for a reasonable place to chop it in two so I could post sooner, but no luck. It just didn't want to be broken up. So here it is in all its... glory? tragedy? I don't even know.
> 
> And I don't know if it's ridiculous to cry while editing your own story, but... yeah.

CHAPTER 21

Shiro being Shiro, sex involves more than just finding human-size condoms and stripping. He needs to be in the right "mental space." Whatever that means. It takes several days.

In the mean time, Pidge is ecstatic about being named Voltron's third in command. She immediately spouts off half a dozen improvements she'd like to try on Red so our Lions can work more in sync. Something about power dynamics and magnetic fields.

"If my Galra Finder got together with my cloaking shield at a wild modulation party, this is a hint of how their technological lovechildren would look," she tells me. I don't ask what it means.

When she shows up in Red's hangar, the force field around my Lion won't go down. Red sits immobile behind the impenetrable wall. "Pidge just wants to run a few tests and see if she can make any improvements. This is for _everyone's_ benefit," I explain. Nothing happens. 

Pidge pokes at the protective bubble, and her expression melts into a puddle of dejection. 

"Don't worry about it," I tell her. "I had to get sucked out into space before _I_ got in."

"Zero surprise that your Lion is just as hard to get to know as you are," she tells me. She adjusts her glasses and looks at me out of the side of her eye. "Speaking of getting to know people, my brother was talking to me about Yarok."

"Yeah," I tell her. "They exchanged some sort of communication frequencies."

"Right, but that's not what I mean," Pidge says. "He was _asking_ about him, you know? And he can act all suave now, but just because he finally hit his growth spurt doesn't mean he's not still a nerd at heart, if you catch my drift."

"I actually have no idea what you're talking about," I tell her, not catching any variety of drift. 

"I'm talking about my brother wanting to date your ex," she says, "and how bad of an idea it would be."

I shrug. "How would I know?"

"But you know _Yarok_ ," Pidge insists. "And not that I'd accuse my brother of going over the top when it comes to a love interest, but he sometimes buries hearts and stars and the name of his current crush in his coding. It would be pathetic if it weren't so endearing."

Again, I have no idea what she's talking about, but I know opportunity when it stares me in the face. "Yarok asked me if Matt was single. I can't say how serious he is, since he just finished pitching a fit over _me_ , but he _seemed_ interested."

"Men are like that," she says. "So easily swayed by a pretty face. Or, you know, giant purple Mohawk."

_I am also a man_ , I don't tell her. She seems confused over this. Though I admit the ovaries do complicate things. "Will you tell your brother? So I don't have to? I maybe promised Yarok I'd mention it."

"Only if I can tease him about it," Pidge says.

"Tease away," I tell her.

By the time Shiro's ready, Pidge is laughing over a bouquet of flowers that tried to worm their way up Matt's nose when he smelled them, and feel like I've fulfilled my obligation to my Galra sort-of-ex. My mind is at ease over it.

My body doesn't know what to do with itself. I've never had sex before when the need wasn't overwhelming. It feels a little like trying to get excited for a meal when you're not hungry. Even though I'm done bleeding from unexpected orifices, my hormones haven't bounced back from the pills yet.

Or maybe it's because it's Shiro. He's not exactly the type I'd cruise. Trying to pick up nice guys for a one-off is a form of self-loathing I never indulged in.

We decided his room is the place for it so I can preserve my own as a safe haven if I need it. Well, _Shiro_ decided, and I didn't protest. I'm sitting cross-legged on his bed in just my t-shirt and pants examining the supplies he gathered. He made a little sex-care kit because of course he did. He's _Shiro_. 

"Do you think this will work alright?" he asks. He's standing beside the bed putting a visible effort into looking composed. He holds up a tube of milky liquid.

"For what?" I ask. I'm more interested in the condoms, which are in an oversized rectangular blister pack, like you're supposed to take one with breakfast until the course of treatment is complete. In the bin with them are tissues, some of the soft pads Pidge gave me, sanitizing gel, and the ointment I put on my toes when I was new to paladin armor and the boots rubbed them raw. And juice boxes. The whole thing is sitting on top of an extra blanket.

Shiro shifts on the balls of his feet. He's barefoot, and it's a nice thing to watch. He rigged a string of Christmas lights like Pidge's over the head of his bed, which is nice, too. We won't have to mess with turning the lights off after so we can sleep. The room lighting is down, and the little bulbs cast a soft glow across his skin. 

"For lubrication," he says. "The book didn't say anything about it, so I had to improvise."

And yes, he read the entire Galra anatomy text. Every single word. 

"Lubrication for what?" I ask, because I only skimmed.

"For... you don't need lube?" he asks. A funny look comes over his face, and he shakes his head. "Well, that does explain it. When the book said _uterine secretions_ , I didn't put two and two together."

I ponder this for a minute. "I know lube is a thing, but I thought it was some kind of joke. Something people use when they're old or doing it wrong. Do all humans use it?"

"Presumably all _men_ , yes," he says. "That part of the body doesn't self-lubricate."

Huh.

Shiro sets the tube back in the bin. "I... hope I'm not making assumptions," he tells me. "From everything you've said, I've gathered that your experience is in being the receiving party. But I want you to know that this can be anything you want it to be. If you'd like to try it the other way around, I'm completely open to that."

"Shiro, you may be the most perfect person ever created," I tell him, "but unless it's a medical emergency, I am not sticking anything up your butt."

He opens his mouth and then closes it again.

"If you wanna use your fingers or something, I don't mind," I clarify. "I'm not gonna watch, though."

Shiro clears his throat. "So is it..." He crosses and uncrosses his arms. "Do you feel... wet down there? Is it noticeable?"

"If I'm really turned on, yeah. The muscles loosen up, and a little leaks out," I tell him. I feel kind of dumb for thinking it worked that way for everyone. It's not like I had anyone to compare notes with, but still. 

I wonder if I should try to explain how that makes things different for me. That's relevant here, right? Except sex is _easier_ instead of harder, so should I even bother? As socially inept as I may be, I know it causes jealousy if you talk about the sex you had with other people. Unless it was bad. 

It _was_ bad, though, wasn't it? It always has been. Even when I was gasping and moaning and screaming for more.

I pull the sheet of condoms out of the bin and fuss with one through the packaging. It looks basically like what you can find on Earth. It's strangely disappointing. Galra condoms are kind of fun. Even that slimy green one.

Is that weird?

"What are you thinking about?" Shiro asks. 

I break the condom off from the rest of the pack and toss the others back in their bin. "Would it be okay to talk about Yarok? Just for reference," I add when his face goes slack.

"How is that," he says, and then shakes his head and starts over with, "I mean _yes_ , that's fine. If you wanted to be with him right now, you would be."

"If I was with him, I'd have my ass in the air right now," I tell Shiro. He blinks down at me until I add, "But that's not the way I want to do it with you. I want it to be different. It's _going_ to be different."

"I—" Shiro takes a second to compose himself. "I read about that, actually. The _position_. It's the best way to stimulate the nesting entry flower to blossom so that the penis can gain entry for inundation, which makes it the ideal arrangement for pregnancy attempts. It's considered extremely intimate."

That's probably the most revolting thing I've heard in my entire life. No wonder Yarok got the wrong impression. But I'm glad Shiro's taking the logical approach and not trying to create some kind of stupid mood. He knows me better than that. "I just didn't wanna have to _look_ at him," I say. 

Shiro winces. "I hope you didn't _tell_ him that, Keith," he mutters.

"My point is that it's _different_ for me. I'm basically always ready," I explain, "so I probably haven't experienced certain things you think I have. Like, I had no problem with Yarok even though Galra are a lot bigger than humans. But I'm sure you read about that, too."

"That," Shiro looks distinctly uncomfortable, "is something I wanted to address. Did you... you didn't get a good... _feel_ earlier, did you? And I don't know if you've seen any statistics about size on Earth."

He pauses. I guess he's looking for an answer. "No?" I try.

Shiro clears his throat. "Right. Well, if you _had_ , you would've recognized that certain human ethnic groupings are... more or less endowed than others."

"Okay," I say.

"I... for as _tall_ as I am, and considering my _build_ —I recognize that the idea of race is unscientific and based on inaccurate historical notions of in-groups, and I don't want to feed into outdated stereotypes, but..."

"Shiro, just say it," I tell him.

"Oh," he says. His face is as red as my Lion. "Well, I'm, ah, below the global average. Kind of significantly."

I shrug. 

"Okay," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "You don't care. Of course you don't care. Why did I think you would care?"

"Dunno," I tell him.

He laughs self-consciously and shakes his head. "I worry about these things. Not for my _own_ sake, because I'm comfortable with my body, but about whether I can be what I need to be to others. That's always been important to me. But I think you know that."

I won't lie and say size doesn't matter. It's a pretty big deal, and anyone who insists otherwise is deluding themselves. But why Shiro thinks _his_ size matters—in _this_ context—is beyond me. That's not what this is about at all.

Besides, even if I didn't get a good feel, I've seen him soft plenty of times. It can't be _that_ bad.

Instead of telling him this, I say, "It's good you told me. This is your first time, and if you're worried about something, you shouldn't hold back. Acting macho is dumb."

He raises an eyebrow. "Do you have any idea how far you've come in your ability to be supportive? How many _light-years_ you've traveled?"

"I try not to think about my less-than-stellar origins," I tell him.

"As opposed to your astronomical ones?" he asks.

"Right." I reach out a hand to him and smile. "C'mon. Let's do the thing." 

He takes my hand in his and squeezes. The look in his eyes makes me tingly inside. "So you don't require foreplay. But would you mind it terribly?" he asks.

"We can do whatever," I tell him as he steps in closer, nudging between my knees. I pull down the zipper on his vest. "I just don't need to."

"I don't want to do anything you don't like," he says. He runs his knuckles across my jawline. His thumb rubs against my chin.

"I like kissing," I remind him.

"I remember that," he says, and brings his lips to mine.

I've never been kissed so thoroughly before. It feels like forever, but in a good way, soft lips and gentle hands making the world go fuzzy around the edges. Reality could melt away around us, and I'd never notice. Shiro's mouth starts out tasting like mint but ends up tasting just like mine. Or maybe mine tastes like his. He does this thing where he sucks on my bottom lip and then nips at it. I really like it. I think it's the teeth. 

I get his vest off, but when I try undoing his belt, he moves my hands away. I don't mind. It's all so comfortable, feeding the warm feeling that's growing inside me. No rush, no panic, nothing to make me feel like I'll lose it if we don't push through to the end. It's so nice, it's almost like we're not going to have sex at all.

We shift around on the bed, with me in his lap, then lying side by side, then me on top of Shiro with one leg across his waist. He runs a hand up and down my thigh. Then he sits and pulls me up with him, and we do it all over again. Somewhere along the line, we lose our shirts, and his bare skin against mine feels so good. I press my chest to his and run my hands up and down his back, fingers mapping the muscle. 

Finally, Shiro winds up on top of me. One of his thighs presses between mine. He's hard against my hip.

It feels good. I'm hard and have been most of the time, but it's the sort of thing I can keep up for days at a time. I'm not desperate. I press my hips against him but keep my hands to myself.

Shiro sucks at my bottom lip, then nips. "You think you're ready to try?" he breathes against my mouth.

I press a closed-mouth kiss to his lips. "Why don't you check and see?"

With a hand behind my neck, he guides my head so he can kiss my forehead. "Would you like to show me what works best?"

It sounds a lot better than _How the hell do I do that?_ Shiro's always impressing me. I grin and kiss him again. "Well, first, my pants have gotta come off," I tell him. 

"Right," he says. "That's smart. Tactical preliminary attack."

I breathe a laugh. "As Defenders of the Universe and sworn enemies of the Galra Empire, we must undertake this dangerous mission."

Shiro nods, expression fake-serious. "Tomorrow: the universe. Today: Keith's pants."

It makes me laugh even harder. "That was _terrible_!"

"Good," Shiro says. "Otherwise, I'd have to start in on sound effects. And you really don't want to hear those."

"I kinda do," I tell him. "But you have to move so I can get to my zipper first."

"Oh," he says. He rolls us to the side so I can reach it. I untangle our legs. "That wasn't in the briefing."

"Standard Garrison procedure," I tell him, and he smiles. I loop my thumbs into my underwear so I can get everything off at the same time. It's a good simplification. Reduction of a step.

Shiro watches. When I finish tugging the pant legs off my ankles, I lie on my side next to him. He runs a hand up my backside. 

I want to tell him to touch something a little more pressing, but I push that urge back down where it belongs. If Shiro just wants to grope me for the rest of the night, that's his prerogative. And it's not even groping, really. Groping involves grabbing. Digging your fingers in and getting a handful. Shiro's super gentle. 

"What do you think, does it pass muster?" I ask.

Shiro pauses and blinks at me like he hadn't realized I was still there. He nods. "All systems are go. I'd say you're cleared for takeoff."

"Aren't you the one who needs to be cleared?" I ask.

"Not with my pants still on," he says.

I can't help laughing. "What does that even _mean_?" 

"It means you'll need an access code," he tells me, and slides his palm over my hip.

I hold up the condom. "I'm authorized."

"We are not funny people, Keith," he tells me, grinning. "It's such a shame." He goes to take the condom, and I pull it out of his grasp.

"Gotta make sure the bay is prepared for docking." I try to say it with a straight face but can't.

"See?" he says. "Not funny."

I laugh. Taking the hand he has on my hip, I slide it back behind and press his index finger into the crease. He's not in such a joking mood when I slide both our fingers inside.

"It's... really slick," he murmurs.

"Yeah, we've been kissing for _days_ ," I tell him. He presses his finger in further, and I have to take a breath before I can go on. "It knows what it wants." I slide my finger out so I can maneuver my hand around his and get another of his fingers inside me.

"That feels..." Shiro swallows hard. His expression is hesitant, but his hand isn't. "Are you sure you're ready?"

In another five minutes, he could probably fist me. I have a strong urge for him to do it with his Galra hand. I don't say this. "If we take much longer, I'm gonna need a meal," I tell him. 

"That's what I forgot in my prep box. Snacks," he says. I don't know if he's joking or not because he's sliding another finger in me, and it's making it hard to breathe. He murmurs, "That is..." but doesn't finish. 

I hunt around on the bed for where I dropped the condom so I can shove it at him. "Come _on_ , Shiro." I'm trying not to be pushy, but seriously. I have limits.

He doesn't act like he hears me. He's moving his fingers in me the way he's about to be moving something else, like he's trying it out. He's very serious. He's biting his lip, and his eyebrows are creased in the middle. 

I just like his face so much. Shiro has the _best_ face.

I'm pretty fond of his fingers at the moment, too. I have to keep myself from shoving myself back on them. I shift against the mattress so he can reach easier. It also helps distract him so I can get to his belt buckle.

"Keith," he warns.

"I'm _dying_ here," I tell him, tugging at the metal fastener. "Aren't you ready yet? You want me to use my mouth? You'd like it. I'm good."

"I'm ready," he says. "I just don't want to take any chances. I don't want to hurt you."

"Why does everyone always think they can hurt me? It pisses me off. I wish they _would_." The hurt always comes later. It's after it's over that it stings, and I don't mean physically. The thought makes me weirdly anxious. I tug open Shiro's pants with a little more violence than I intend.

"Do we need to unpack that statement now, or can it wait?" Shiro asks. "Without injury to my clothing?" He pulls his fingers out and leaves me feeling empty and kind of dumb.

"You're not gonna hurt me," I tell him. "Don't worry about it." He lets me reach into his pants. He's so hard and wet at the tip. Good and thick, too. I tell him _Nice_ and mean it.

"Do you think so?" he asks, looking relieved.

"Yeah. Gonna put it in me now? You know it'll feel good." I give him a little squeeze. "You can make me beg if you want. I'm all yours."

Shiro throws me an embarrassed look. "I... didn't expect you to talk like that."

It's an awkward thing to hear when you've got your hand down someone's pants. The realization strikes me that _Shiro_ and _sex_ are diametrically opposed entities. Mix the two, and you've got a brand new species that biological science has yet to categorize. And I'm not a scientist. I'm a pilot. 

"Sorry," I tell him. "Bad habit."

"You don't have to apologize," he says. "I admit that I'm a prude."

"You just fingered an alien," I tell him. "I think you're officially not a prude anymore."

He laughs a little nervously. 

I push his pants down his hips. 

When someone says _significantly below global average_ , you'd expect something disproportionate. He's no Yarok, but someone's statistics are skewed. Yeah, he's on the short side, but his length really stands out against the hair down there. It's jet black, and he's clipped it short since the last time I got a good look at him naked. 

Logically, I see no reason why I should be salivating. But I definitely want to suck him dry. I bet I could fit the whole thing down my throat and not even trigger my gag reflex.

I wrap my fingers around it instead and give it an experimental pump. It's velvet-smooth. "I like it," I tell Shiro.

"That's good," Shiro says. He swallows hard. His hips shift toward me. "It's, ah, the only one I've got."

I almost say something filthy in response but bite the words back. I kiss him and guide him over me. The condom somehow got under my rib cage, and I pull it out and rip the corner off the packaging.

Shiro hears it and kisses me deeper. He makes a sound in the back of his throat that makes me grab his hip. My breath catches in my throat. I pull him closer, and the head of my cock rubs against his hip. He gasps into my mouth.

I roll the condom onto him, thankful I can do it now without looking. My mind goes blank as Shiro picks me up and lays my head down on one of his pillows. He lifts my hips and puts the other pillow under them. He kneels beside me. The Christmas lights above his bed shed a soft glow on the muscled expanse of his chest.

"Is this okay?" he asks. The condom covering his jutting cock is bright pink at the tip but almost transparent as it gets closer to his body. It's a nice design touch. I like it after all.

"Yeah, perfect," I tell him, though it's a guess. I've never done it this way before, but watching him while he's inside me will be good, I think. I always like looking at Shiro.

"It's kind of vanilla," Shiro says with an apologetic shrug. He slides a palm up the inside of my thigh and gently spreads my legs at the knee. 

"Vanilla's pretty exotic in space," I tell him. I settle back against the pillow so I can open to him further. "I haven't tasted it in... how long have we been away from Earth?"

Shiro doesn't answer. He's too busy gaping. The pillow under my backside tilts my hips so he has a perfect view of my hole. I clench involuntarily, and his eyes widen. I like that. Pulling my knees up to spread my legs even further, I unclench and press outward until I can feel a wet little gush escape.

Shiro covers his mouth with his human hand. His eyes couldn't get any wider.

"You are the cutest thing I've ever seen," I tell him.

He gives me a look like he can't decide whether that's a good thing, and I have to laugh. He likes freaky alien sex stuff just as much as I do. Too bad I don't have Galra balls. He'd _really_ get off on that.

But no. I remind myself that's not the way its going to be. Nothing freaky, nothing nasty, nothing that makes me feel that overwhelming hollowness where my heart should be. This is _Shiro_ , and this time, I'm going to do it right. 

Shiro caresses the inside of my knees. "You said you don't like oral sex," he says, and his voice is deeper than it usually is, "but what if I put my mouth down _there_?" He tips his chin.

"Not if you wanna kiss me after," I tell him. 

He nods. The sound of his swallowing is loud in the stillness of the room. "Good to know."

I give my cock a squeeze while he ponders his next move. I rub my thumb in the slick fluid at the tip. "I like the condom. It looks good on you," I tell Shiro. The pink tip is riding higher than it was before. "Let's test it out."

Shiro wets his lips. "Right. Can't let it go to waste."

I smile at that and yank him closer by the wrist. It's his Galra arm. The metal is warm and solid in my grasp. My body tingles in anticipation. 

Shiro slides in between my thighs. He leans over me until he's all I can see. Until he's everything. But then again, I guess he always has been.

I reach down between my legs and guide him in. 

The blunt tip presses against me, and I exhale slowly to relax. My fingers slide against the solid shape of Shiro's hipbone. Shiro makes it past the outer ring of muscle and slides smoothly inside.

"Oh, wow," he murmurs. 

"You can push in further," I tell him. I wrap my hand around his firm cheek and give it a pat.

He does. He lets out a little grunt as his hips meet me. His wiry hair prickles against my skin. 

"You okay?" he asks. "Is this alright? It doesn't hurt?"

He's hardly doing anything, and I have no idea how he thinks it could hurt. "I'm Galra, remember? We're designed for this," I remind him, gently. It's good that he's taking the time to ask. I run a hand over the back of his neck and up against the soft bristles of his hair. 

"That's right," he says. "It's stretchier. The babies come out of there."

It's the least sexy thing anyone ever said to me while they were balls-deep in my ass. I let it slide. "Gotta move it around a little first," I tell him. It's not like he's wrong. And who am _I_ to criticize someone else's kinks?

Shiro nods. He tries pulling out a little and then pushes back in. He does it again, but with more force. I tilt my hips to meet him. It feels nice.

"You're so _warm_ inside," he tells me, like he didn't expect it, and does it again.

I push back against the knee-jerk response to tell him he'll get me even hotter if he does it harder. "I'm glad it feels good," I tell him. "Just do what seems right, and you'll be fine. I want it to be good for you."

It doesn't take as long as I expect. After a minute, Shiro finds a solid rhythm, and I wrap my legs around his waist. It's pretty comfy. He's broken out in a sweat that makes my hands slip across his shoulders when I grab onto him. "You are so gorgeous," he murmurs. "Since the moment I first saw you..."

"Relax," I tell him. 

"You want to," he swallows and takes a breath but doesn't stop, "switch positions? Try something else?"

I rub at the nape of his sweaty neck. "Just wanna watch you," I tell him.

He moans and pops into me almost hard enough. A shudder runs through him as his eyes squeeze shut. I comb my fingers through the white hair that sticks to his forehead. I twist it so it looks like soft-serve ice cream with his head for a cone. I smile because it's vanilla.

I smooth it back off his forehead.

Shiro presses a messy kiss my neck. "Do you like it?" he asks against my skin. 

It takes a minute to figure out what he means.

The thrust of his hips isn't hard enough, or fast enough, to give me what I need. It's too jerky and not in tune with my flow at all. He's not long enough to reach that place inside me—the _flower_ thing—that makes it so good. Nothing he's doing is ever going to make me feel the way the Galra part of me craves. Just like on the training deck, the two of us are not a physical match.

But that's not what it's about. This is Shiro. He's my _person_. And none of that other stuff means anything.

"Yeah," I say. "It's perfect."

When he comes, I'm half hard. His teeth are clenched and elbows locked to hold him above me. His chin tips up, and the veins stand out along the strong column of his neck. I rub my hands up his chest and pinch his nipples. He makes a choking sound in his throat and jerks into me one last time.

When it's over, his head hangs down between his shoulders. He swallows hard and pants and holds himself up on trembling arms. I unloop my legs from his waist and guide him down next to me on the bed. He slides out of me with a barely-noticeable pop. I lay his head on the pillow.

The condom has gone from bright pink to milky white at the tip. I take it off and discover there's nothing in it. It's thick and squishy at the end, and I realize it absorbed what he put inside. There's no cleanup at all. What a good idea.

Shiro looks shell-shocked. The pillow I had under my hips is wedged beneath his thigh, and I pull it out to settle him in better. I take the extra blanket he was smart enough to bring and spread it over both of us before his sweat cools him down too much. I slide in close and kiss him on the chin. His arms wrap around me automatically.

"Gonna make it, buddy?" I ask.

He snorts and squeezes me to his chest. "That was really something."

"I won't argue with that," I tell him. I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He does the same to me. "I didn't think it would be that intense. I assumed people were exaggerating."

I smile. "Only most of the time, I think."

"Did you...? I don't know how the Galra part of this works," he admits. "The book says it's separate—that the two types of orgasms feel different..."

So maybe I should've read that book a little closer. "If I did, you'd know. I'm pretty loud," I tell him. It's adorable that he thinks what he was doing could get me off. 

"I was _trying_ ," Shiro admits. He sounds disappointed. It makes me feel a little bad.

But he's still adorable.

"I wasn't." I spread my hands against his chest and rub at his nipples with my index fingers. They're really nice. Wider and softer than mine. "I didn't want that. Neither did you, not the first time. I've passed out before."

"Sounds terrible," Shiro says. "Did it frighten you when it first happened?"

I shrug. "I wasn't afraid of anything back then. At least, that's what I told myself." Looking back on it, I was so dumb. No condom, with some kid I hardly knew, passing out on my foster parents' couch. Skipped school, too. _Idiot_.

Shiro strokes a hand through my hair. "You seem okay. Are you feeling bad for doing this? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I'm okay. It might hit later, but for now... It was different with you. With my _person_." I smile and kiss his wrist. "Maybe I'll keep feeling okay. I really _want_ to keep feeling okay, Shiro."

He presses his forehead to mine. "Just tell me if you need anything from me. I'll do anything I can, alright?"

I think a minute. "Maybe right now... a juice box."

He puffs a breath of laughter against my cheek. "I thought those would come in handy."

Xxxxx

Sometime in the middle of the night, Shiro wakes me up kissing my neck. "Feel like giving it another go?" he murmurs. His hands slide over my hips, thumbs rubbing circles against my hipbones.

"Mmm, why not?" I mumble.

He wants to try it with me riding him, which I figure might be nice. 

I'm wrong. Bouncing up and down while straddling his hips, I feel like the stupidest creature in the universe. I stop and lean my hands on Shiro's shoulders and give him a raised-eyebrow look that has him covering his mouth to keep from laughing. The whole thing is so ridiculous that I start laughing and can't stop. Shiro starts, too, and we keep doing it even after he flips me onto my back and starts going at it missionary style again.

After he comes, all open-mouth gasps and wide eyes, he doesn't pull out. He leans over my shoulder and takes my length in his human hand. Pressing kisses against my collarbone, he starts jerking me off.

It feels good with him still inside me. He smells like sex and sweat and sleep, and it's the perfect combination. My body's more than ready, and I find myself rocking up against him as I get close. My breath hitches, and I grab at the pillow under my head. My teeth bite into my bottom lip. Shiro's hard again.

"God, _Keith_ ," he gasps. His hips meet mine, and we've suddenly got a rhythm between us. It's hot and sweet and _right_. "You feel so _good_... I'm gonna come again."

It's filthy and beautiful and everything I could've hoped for. "Do it," I tell him, as my pleasure crests. "I wanna see."

But I can't see because I'm coming, my eyes are squeezing shut, and my mouth is gasping Shiro's name. It's not a flood that could drown me, but a warm swell, Shiro's waters embracing my shores, reassuring and safe and everything I need. I never imagined anything could feel like this. 

Shiro lays _me_ down this time. I feel so good, drowsy and sated like a kitten with a belly full of milk. I close my eyes and let myself enjoy it. Shiro kisses my neck and runs his hands over my sides and slides in tight beside me. "Keith," he says, and runs his fingertips over my lips. 

When I open my eyes, he's resting his head on the same pillow. His eyes are so wide and so full of warmth, of trust—of _love_ —and I just feel... I feel...

Nothing.

I feel nothing.

Shiro grabs me before I can launch myself off the bed. With panic shooting through me, I shove at him, but he's so much stronger. I strike out at his face, but he grabs my wrists. He's better trained, more centered, and I can't get away. I am wrung-out and hollow and cold and so, _so_ empty. My insides are a gaping, icy pit of nothingness where all my feelings should be.

Shiro pulls me tight against his chest. "It's okay, Keith. You're going to be okay," he soothes.

"I didn't like it," I moan, going limp in his arms. "I didn't _like_ it, Shiro!"

"I know, but it's over now. It's done, and it's never going to happen again, okay? Do you hear me?" he asks. "It's all over."

I make myself as small as I can in his arms, flatten myself against him. My ears ring. "I wanted to like it. Why can't I _like_ it?" I feel sick.

"You don't have to like it. It's okay. Nothing says you have to like it." He runs a gentle hand over my head, smoothing my hair back against my scalp.

I press my forehead against his chest. My eyes burn, and I wipe at them with the back of my hand. "But it's _you_. I'm supposed to like it because it's _you_!" 

"You're not _supposed_ to do anything," he soothes. "You tried, you didn't like it, and now it's finished. Okay?" 

It's not okay. Nothing is okay. Nothing has _ever been_ okay. My eyes fill with too many tears to wipe away, like floodwaters rushing in over your boots no matter how many sandbags you fill. I take a choking breath and turn my face against Shiro's chest.

"It's going to be okay," he tells me again. "We don't need sex to be a part of each other. We are more than that, Keith."

"But I wanted to _love_ you," I sob. " _I wanted to love you!_ "

Shiro sighs and holds me close. "I know, baby. I know." 

He rubs my shoulders with the gentlest hands, and I am the biggest mess, and he deserves so, so much better than this. Shiro deserves everything, and I have nothing, and love is the most unfair joke the universe ever played on us.

"So I'd like to tell you a story," Shiro says. His voice is soft and kind. He pats at my hair. "A really _stupid_ story. It's kind of like a fairytale, but not. Does that sound okay?"

I sniff and try to tell him yes, but I can't say it, so I just nod. 

"So once upon a time, there was... ah, there was this _pilot_ ," Shiro says. "He wasn't the _best_ pilot, but he was good. Very good. And everyone liked him. He said the right things to the right people. He stressed teamwork and believing in yourself. He had _people skills_. He is not you."

I snort through my tears because that last part is so unnecessary. 

"So this, uh, this _pilot_ ," he says, "was chosen for a very important mission. He was excited, and everyone else was excited for him because everyone liked him. Some friends of his decided he needed one last night out on the town before his mission. They took him to drink and shoot pool and flirt and do all the things people do before they go on important missions. Raise some hell. You know how it is, right?"

I nod against his chest and wipe some of the wet off my face.

"And while this pilot and his friends were having a good time and maybe drinking a _little_ too much, this senior cadet comes up to them. Redhead, smoking hot," he says. "Short dress, long legs, cleavage so deep that when she bent down to shoot pool, you could see all the way to her navel. Which was _pierced_ , by the way. She was essentially a _wet dream_ on—"

"I _get_ it," I manage. My throat is pinched, and I sniff a noseful of snot down it. I cough and sniff again.

"Right," Shiro says. He pats my shoulder. "And maybe, since this pilot had had the _tiniest_ bit too much to drink... and then a few more on top of that... he agreed when his friends told him it would be a good idea to take said redhead into the lounge for a little one-on-one time. So he gets her in there, on the couch, with his hand up her skirt, and she's making these _noises_ , and he thinks—"

"This is a terrible story," I tell him. I wipe my wet hand on his arm. There may or may not be snot on it.

"—and he thinks, _I wonder what Keith is doing_. Keith is his friend, you see. He couldn't come along because he has an exam in the morning, and Keith's had some problems in school. Doesn't follow the rules. Not a team player. Not a people pers—"

"I _know_ who Keith is," I say.

"Right. You know Keith. Everyone knows Keith. He's kind of a big deal. Best pilot in a generation. Some are calling him a genius."

"Also an alien. Don't forget that part," I tell him.

"Well, but no one knows that yet. He is extraterrestrially _pretty_ though. And that's what this pilot thinks of while he's feeling this senior cadet up. And he's so _distracted_ , he starts telling her about him. He sits her back on the infamous vinyl couch and starts telling her about this dreamy cadet with midnight black hair and these violet eyes and soft-looking mouth, and this chin that could slice hearts in two—"

I snort. "My _chin_? Really?"

"But this senior cadet thinks he's talking about a _girl_. She starts asking, _Do I know her?_ and _Does she go to school here?_ and about a dozen other things. And the pilot's had too much to drink, remember, so he tells her something vague like _You're never met a girl like this_ , and she says, _Oh. So you wanna fuck or not?_ "

"Charming."

"My thoughts exactly. I told her no. But if she goes right back out there, it'll look like I turned her down. She doesn't want that. She wants a good story. She wants to be the one who got made by everyone's hero. I'm pretty drunk, and I've got a captive audience, so I keep talking. I talk about this girl—who's actually a boy, and actually an _alien_ , but no one knows that—"

"I thought this was a story about a _pilot_. Now you're talking like it's been you the whole time," I tell him. "You're ruining the flow."

"Keith," Shiro says. "I have a confession to make. I talked about you to a girl whose name I don't remember for a solid half hour and was so _grateful_ she listened and promised not to tell anyone that I said she could spread whatever wild story she wanted about what we got up to in the lounge. I told her all about the future you and I were going to have and how we were going to get married and have a _dog_ and grow old together. I couldn't tell _you_ how I felt, so I rambled for half an hour to a girl wearing a lace pushup bra and thong underwear."

"Shiro," I tell him, "you're right. That was a really, _really_ stupid story."

He laughs. "Want to know something else? I never once mentioned sex. Not _once_. It never came to my mind. I'm not going to say I never contemplated having sex with you. But since you were only seventeen... I was trying to set an example, not corrupt the youth."

A virgin corrupting the youth. I have to smile at the thought. "I've been with dozens of guys, Shiro. More than one of them _on that couch_. Do you know how many cocks your mouth has touched by association just by kissing me?"

He nods. "It's almost like I have this wild sex life everyone thinks I have."

"No one thinks you have a wild sex life," I inform him. "They think you have a sex life appropriate to your status as an upstanding member of society."

He frowns. "Well, that's boring."

"You could've actually _had sex_ , you know," I tell him.

"Couldn't," he says. "It's like I said—I was too busy thinking of you."

I ask, "Since the age of thirteen?"

"You really sex at thirteen?" he says.

"I have a _belligerent alien uterus_ up my butt," I insist. "What do you _want_ from me?"

"Hey, Keith," Shiro says. He's grinning. "You feel better, don't you?"

I throw him a death pout. "Shut up."

He laughs. 

"It's not like feeling better fixes the problem. I _don't_ love you," I tell him, though it makes my chest hurt. "And I'm not ever _going_ to no matter how much I want to. I'm just not wired that way. This is the final proof."

Shiro is quiet for a minute. He takes the edge of the blanket and wipes my cheeks dry. "Well, just a thought, but have you considered that you're thinking of love a bit narrowly? There are all sorts of different types of love. Just because you don't love me in the typical way, that doesn't mean you don't feel anything for me at all."

"Of course I have _feelings_ for you," I tell him. "But they're just _general_ ones. They're not what you're supposed to feel for someone you wanna spend the rest of your life with."

He opens his mouth to say something and then closes it again. He pulls me in closer and squeezes me tight. "You know, you've never come out and said it before. That you want to spend your life with me."

"How was it not _obvious_? I've wanted to spend every waking moment with you since I was..." I think about it for a minute and remember stargazing, "sixteen years old. I knew then. But it was a total pipe dream. I never thought it could actually _happen_."

"Well, I'm honestly glad it didn't come up then," he says, loosening his hold so he can look me in the eye. He looks... I don't know. Relieved? "You know yourself much better now, and you're in a place where you can weigh your options."

"My options for not being able to make you happy?"

"Keith, I know this is difficult for you to see," he says, "but the only one you're making unhappy here is yourself. We both knew this would happen. You don't have to beat yourself up over it."

I know he's right. But there was a part of me that held onto a shred of hope. If I opened myself up to someone I truly cared about, not just some guy who was a means to an end, maybe everything would fall into place. I could be what I wanted to be and give Shiro what he wanted, and the fairytale might be real after all. Crazier things have happened. We're in outer space piloting _magical robot lions_ , for god's sake. 

So what now? I'm not leaving Shiro. I'm _never_ leaving Shiro. But what's going to happen when I start craving sex again? When every waking second I'm not getting off is agony, and I'm needing it so bad I can't help myself? How am I going to be Shiro's big spoon _then_?

"So what happens now?" I ask. I want to apologize for this whole mess, which is all my fault, but if I do, I'm going to start crying again. 

"What do you _want_ to happen?" he asks.

I will myself to be calm and think for a minute, but my brain is the consistency of food goo. I can't process anything beyond the obvious. "I want you to be happy. I wanna be there for you and... _be_ with you. That's all I know."

"That's more than enough, buddy," he says.

"And I want you to call me _baby_ ," I add, without thinking of the words before they leave my mouth. I want to take them back, but I also don't.

Shiro kisses the top of my head. "Anything you want, baby."

Hearing it again soothes something deep inside me, and also makes me fight back tears. I'm such a contradiction. I open my mouth to thank him, but I yawn instead. It hits me how exhausted I am, and I nuzzle up against the warmth of Shiro's neck. He shifts against the mattress and lifts my head up so it can rest on his bicep. 

"We're going to be okay, Keith," he says. He presses a kiss to my forehead. "This was just a bump in the road on our journey together. It may have left us rattled, but it wasn't enough to throw us."

"Mmhmm," I say. I close my eyes and drape an arm over his side. His Galra fingers rub at the nape of my neck. I breathe in the scent of his skin.

Everything's going to be okay. Shiro's not angry. He's not demanding things I can't give him. We're _fine_. Just sleep, stop blowing things out of proportion, and trust in Shiro that this will work out. Trust in _yourself_.

All of this will look better tomorrow. 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my plan is for one more chapter. I'm sad to end it but looking forward to getting things settled for our boys, who have frankly been through enough. Thanks to everyone for your continued support!


End file.
